Seasons Change
by Nevermore
Summary: Sequel to 'Unnatural Selection.' The Coming has been averted, but now what? Still under siege and facing innumerable enemies, Max tries to find a safe path for her people and herself while forces gather around her. My early- to mid-Season 3. (Complete)
1. Politics Makes Strange Bedfellows

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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Author's First Note: This story is a sequel to my earlier story, _Unnatural Selection._ It would certainly help you understand what's going on here if you read that first, though I guess most people would be able to catch up quickly enough without reading the other story.

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Author's Second Note: Here it is, the start of a second story I never intended to write. (And I changed the prospective title from _Introducing the Serpent_ as I thought this new title more closely fit the tone of the story. The old story title will simply be the title of one of the later chapters.) As I wrote _Unnatural Selection_, I felt an increasing desire to tell more about the transgenics' struggles, and not just their fight against the Familiars. That brought me to this tale, which is going to have a bit of a plot, but will more likely focus on the personal repercussions most characters experience because of the events in _Unnatural Selection._ As a result, this will be far more character driven than its predecessor, so I hope most people are fine with that.

Also, please don't ask what the pairing in this story is going to be. I don't write stories with particular pairings necessarily in mind before I start. I'd love to be able to say that I know this is going to be M/L, or M/A, or even M/OC, but the fact is that I don't know yet (though I definitely have my suspicions). Things have a tendency of changing as my stories progress. (For instance, for those of you that read _Unnatural Selection,_ Alec was originally going to be the one to kill Lydecker to initiate The Coming, but as the scene grew closer I realized that Zack (who was originally slated to die) had the greater motivation to do that. Then Alec was going to be the one to take over Lydecker's role, but Logan sorta convinced me otherwise. So Alec (and most everyone else) ended up somewhere completely different than I had planned at the beginning… and that difference is going to be played out as this story unfolds.) So I hope that's explanation enough for ya. Now I guess I should start the damn story, huh?

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Seasons Change

by

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Nevermore

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Where can I run to?

Where can I hide?

Who will I turn to?

Now I'm in, a virgin state of mind.

-- K's Choice, 'Virgin State of Mind'

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I – Politics Makes Strange Bedfellows

"Good morning, Max," Gordon said reverently, averting his eyes as Max walked slowly by, trying not to pay attention to the newly arrived transgenic. She was amazed that they kept coming, scrambling through the increasingly lax security at the perimeter of Terminal City. It had been slightly over a month since the siege began, and it appeared as if the powers that be in the national government had decided to let individual transgenics continue to join their contained comrades. _It'll be that much easier for them to wipe us out that way, if they decide to,_ she thought again, trying to fight off the anxiety that grew daily.

"Ah, Max, good morning," another transgenic muttered, also averting her eyes. Max could only wonder who the woman was. _Yet another new arrival,_ she knew. Like the others, this one seemed to hold Max in inhumanly high regard. Word had gotten out that she'd died opposing the Familiars, and that she had then come back from the dead to lead the transgenic nation to freedom. _"That's totally not what happened,"_ she'd complained to anyone that would listen. Not that it helped at all. As Alec had told her, their people needed someone to believe in. Back at Manticore their lives had had structure, and they'd all become accustomed to being told what to do and how to do it. The lack of direction in their lives since the escape had created a void in all of them, a void that they were all too happy to fill with the messianic idea of a transgenic that rose from the dead.

"Hey," Max heard another voice say casually from behind her. She turned and set her eyes on Alec, smiling broadly despite herself, basking in the absolute lack of awe in which he held her. He was the only one in Terminal City that had been with her in Israel when she'd 'died,' although he never spoke of it. When she asked him once why he pretended as if none of that had ever happened, he answered that he was afraid that he also might start getting some kind of cult-like treatment, and that was the last thing he wanted. So he continually tried distancing himself from the assault in Megiddo. _"Although it might help me score with some chicks if I was seen as some kind of minor deity,"_ he had commented with obvious amusement. Max smiled as she remembered that conversation, just one of many that she had had with Alec since returning from the Middle East. _Sure, he may be a happy-go-lucky sociopath,_ she admitted, _but at least he still talks to me like I'm a real person. Not even Joshua does that anymore._

"How you doin'?" Max asked evenly, instinctively burying the comfort she felt being anywhere near the man who was quickly becoming her most trusted lieutenant.

"Guess I'm doin' all right," Alec commented. "What's this I hear about us getting a visitor?"

"Dunno," Max replied. "Mole just radioed in from the perimeter and said that the National Guard is clearing the entrance for someone that wants to talk to me."

"Do we know who it is?"

"No, but this might be what we've been waiting for," Max answered. She fought to conceal her disgust as the two of them walked through a large room and over a dozen transgenics all looked away, as if they were afraid that Max would visit divine retribution against them if she caught anyone daring to look upon her. _This has got to stop, _she told herself for the umpteenth time. _I'm not a goddess. I'm not even a good soldier. Hell, until a month ago I was a delivery-girl. This is so absurd._

"I'll take care of it," Alec volunteered.

"You'll take care of it?" Max asked, surprised by the fact that he seemed to be assuming some kind of responsibility. _Though that shouldn't surprise you anymore,_ she quickly reminded herself. _Stop thinking of him the same way you did before Israel. He changed almost as much as you did out there, Max._

"I'll meet our guest at the gate," Alec clarified, obviously taking Max's reaction to be an assumption that he was trying to usurp her authority. "I'll bring him right to you, though; I'm not going to do any of the talking or anything."

"I know," Max clarified. "That's not what I meant." She almost smiled at the familiarity of it all. Almost. Every day Alec took on more of the routine responsibilities, leaving her free to concern herself with the big picture; and every day he apologized for his assistance, fearing that he had gone too far. _And I never have the nerve to thank him for everything he's doing,_ Max chided herself. As everyone else distanced themselves, afraid to get too close to their 'divine leader,' only Alec grew closer, still seeing Max for what she was – a young woman who needed as much help as she could get.

"You sure?" Alec asked. "I don't want to step on your toes or anything." He seemed so genuinely contrite that Max had a hard time not laughing. It was certainly not a good look for Alec.

"It's fine," Max assured him.

"So you want me to get the guy at our gate?"

"Yes," Max said. "Please," she added, almost as an afterthought. Alec simply nodded and walked off, leaving Max alone again. She walked up to their makeshift lookout tower, deciding she should at least get some idea of what to expect. Once up there, she set her gaze on Joshua, who followed the lead of so many others by avoiding eye contact, though he had not yet gotten to the point where he was totally averting his gaze.

"Hey, Max," he said evenly.

"Hey," Max said with a comfortable smile. _He doesn't call me Little Fella anymore,_ she noticed sadly. It was just another reminder of how her people saw her, how much she felt set apart and alienated, despite the fact that she was supposed to be speaking for all of them.

"Someone's coming in," Joshua pointed out, handing Max a spare set of binoculars. "It's someone important."

"Yeah, looks like it," Max agreed. The National Guard had cleared a path through the demonstrators gathered at the front gate – _there are even more today than yesterday,_ Max noted – holding them at bay with the very genuine threat of violence if anyone stepped out of line. A single figure waded through the barely controlled masses, a man whose strong strides belied his slight frame. He ignored the people around him, the anti-transgenic reactionaries on his right, every one of them calling for the death of all those in Terminal City, and the pro-transgenic supporters on the left, all of them demanding an end to the siege and equality for those trapped within.

"Do you recognize him?" Joshua asked.

"It's not anyone I've ever met," Max answered. "He does look familiar, though. He looks like someone I saw a picture of when I was a kid, back at Manticore. He's aged a bit."

"What's his name?"

"If it is who I think it is, he's Frederick McElroy," Max answered. "He's a senator. He was on the committee that originally approved the funding for the creation of the Manticore project. He was one of Manticore's biggest supporters."

"So is he a good guy or a bad guy?" Joshua asked.

"Don't know," Max admitted. _Though it doesn't seem like we can simply make everyone either a 'good guy' or 'bad guy' anymore,_ she lamented. The past month had taught her that everyone had his own agenda, and whether the individual was seen as good or bad depended solely on which side of that agenda Max and the rest of the transgenics fell. "I guess it's time to find out."

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Max leaned back in her chair, gazing across the battered desk toward the door beyond, waiting for her guest to be shown in. _This is **your** office, Max,_ she reminded herself. _You're the one in control. Don't let him forget it._ Her mental pep rally concluded just as a soft knock came from the door. _Wait on it,_ she told herself, making certain she didn't seem too anxious by answering too soon. _Okay, 1… 2… 3._ "Come in," she instructed.

Alec opened the door and walked in first, with Robert McElroy closely in tow and Mole bringing up the rear. She looked McElroy over curiously, now certain of his identity as she got a closer look. The years hadn't been overly kind to the man. Max remembered him as being at least fifty pounds heavier in the old pictures she'd seen as a child. McElroy had been an Olympic athlete, a member of a silver medal-winning crew team. His broad, muscular shoulders had withered into the frame of an over-worked, under-paid bureaucrat. His face, once finely chiseled and displaying as much strength as his body had, was now wrinkled and pale from years spent indoors, poring over the minutiae of running a government that spent every day on the brink of collapse. And his hair, thick and brown just ten years earlier, had been reduced to a few thin, gray wisps.

_He's probably a very devoted man,_ Max decided. In a period of unprecedented corruption and governmental failure, Senator McElroy actually seemed worse off than he had been at the beginning, physically declining while so many of his peers grew fat off the misery of the citizenry. _But who, or what, is he devoted to? Can I trust him?_

"Are _you_ Max?" McElroy asked, drawing a thin smile from his host. Max was amused that Alec and Mole had obviously first brought their guest to Erin. Erin had come to Terminal City a week after Max's return from Israel, when word had started to get around that Max had come back from the dead to lead her people. Erin, formerly X5-455, was yet another clone of Max's, and she had volunteered to be a security decoy, to draw the fire of anyone that sought to kill Max. _Another zealot,_ Max thought. _Yet another person willing to die for me. It's crazy…_

"Yes, I'm Max," she assured the senator. "And you're Senator McElroy."

"You're well informed," the senator responded with a disturbingly fake looking smile, the same grin that every practiced politician wore whenever he opened his mouth to speak. It was instinct, a show they all put on to make themselves appear more friendly and trustworthy. Max found it irritating.

"What do you want?" Max asked, not bothering with small talk. She knew that politicians could be counted on to do what was best for them; she just wanted to know how she fit into the picture.

"Do you think we could talk alone?" McElroy asked, glancing meaningfully at Mole and Alec hovering at his sides. Max concentrated on the man seated in front of her – she heard his heart rate quicken, she could see and smell him beginning to sweat. _He's nervous, that's for sure,_ she decided. That alone was enough to make her certain she wasn't sitting across from a Familiar. She and many of the others had decided that their enemies likely had some of their own people in positions of power, and Max knew it was possible that one, or more, could be senators. She was relatively certain she would be safe alone with McElroy, though.

"Mole, can you go back to the perimeter?" Max asked. "I don't want anyone to get careless just because we have a guest."

"Sure," Mole muttered in response. He obviously wasn't happy to be left out, but he was also, much to Max's surprise, one of her most devout followers. He hadn't questioned a single one of her orders since she had returned to them.

"I'll check the security system," Alec said, also moving to leave.

"No, stay," Max said. Alec looked at her in surprise, and Mole looked at Alec with obvious jealousy, but Max didn't bother to explain her decision to anyone, including herself. _Though I'm really not sure why I feel better with him around,_ she wondered silently, knowing that only a few short months earlier she had had to concentrate on quelling her irritation just at the mention of his name. "You say what you have to say to both of us, or not at all," she told McElroy. "If that's unacceptable, then goodbye."

"That's fine," the senator replied quickly, his left hand deftly wiping away a bead of sweat that had appeared at his brow.

"So what do you want?" Max repeated.

"I want to help," McElroy said. Max simply stared in response, unable to decide which of the many offensive retorts she had come up with would best convey her suspicions. "Seriously," he continued. "I doubt you know, but I was one of the men that originally approved the Manticore project."

"I know," Max answered.

"Good," McElroy responded, his faux grin growing ever wider with each word. "You see, Max, I feel responsible for what's happened. This isn't how it was supposed to be."

"I know that, too," Max countered. "We were supposed to be kept behind concrete walls, a secret from the populace, slaves to the whim of men like you."

"Yes," McElroy agreed, surprising Max with his candor. "I'm not foolish enough to think you could ever forgive my colleagues and me for what we did to you before you were even born--"

"You mean created," Alec interrupted, immediately shriveling beneath the punitive stare shot in his direction.

"No, I mean born," McElroy clarified. "You were all _born_. True, you were created in a lab, in a test tube, but you were still born. Good old red-blooded American women were selected as your surrogates, and you were _born_ to them. Do you know what that means?"

"That I have to start buying someone flowers for Mother's Day?" Max asked sarcastically.

"No, it means you're citizens," McElroy corrected.

"Huh?" Max heard herself ask, though she hadn't intended to say a word.

"You were born to an American citizen," Senator McElroy repeated. "That makes you a citizen, too. And even if the surrogates weren't citizens, you were born on American soil. Just like the children born to illegal immigrants that sneaked into the country over the years, hoping to make a better life for their descendants, you were also born a citizen. That means you have the same rights as any other American."

"Oh really?" Alec asked sarcastically. "Seems I remember hearing every day for about eighteen years that I was the property of the United States government. Don't remember the word 'citizen' ever being tossed around."

"Me either," Max echoed.

"I suppose not," McElroy commented. "But you're no more the property of the United States government than a test tube baby in the 1970's was the property of the doctor that performed the in-vitro fertilization. Human beings can't be the property of other human beings in this country. The 13th Amendment forbids it."

"But I keep hearing on the news that we're not human," Alec commented, continuing his flippant remarks. "Said it right there on TV… and if it's on TV it _has_ to be true."

"Alec, please," Max said, cutting him off. She could follow the senator's line of reasoning, and she liked it a lot.

"If we're citizens, then we can't be held here unless we've done something wrong," she muttered.

"Unless you're deemed a threat to national security," McElroy pointed out. "I'd expect that to be the first thing most people say to justify your imprisonment."

"But not you?" Max asked. "You don't think we're a threat to national security? Come on, Senator, you were on the committee that authorized our creation. You probably know better than most what we're capable of. I'd expect to see you out there crying for our termination." She looked him over carefully, and finally saw something hidden behind McElroy's smile. "Once again, I have to ask you what you want," Max said evenly. "You know how smart transgenics are, so let's stop dancing around it. You came here to make an offer – let's hear it."

"I'll advance your cause on a national level," McElroy offered. "I'll apply as much pressure as I can to lift this siege."

"In exchange for?"

"Your support," McElroy replied. "I'm going to run for president."

"And you figured that if you declare us citizens, then we can vote for you," Alec put in with a sardonic grin. "Nice thinking, Senator. I bet the two-hundred votes you just got today will put you right over the top."

"This country has been a third-world nation long enough," the senator grumbled. "I for one am tired of it. The Manticore Project was the most ambitious program our nation, or any other, had ever conceived of. It seems right that you help us get back to where we were when you were created."

"I don't follow," Max admitted. _Sure, politicians are supposed to be vague, but this is ridiculous._ "Can't you give me some kind of details to work with?"

"Imagine deploying some transgenics into cities where lawlessness is rampant," McElroy suggested. "Just a handful of your people would need only a few days to quell the chaos in places like Las Vegas, Boston, and Baltimore. Once we can provide for the basic safety of our own people, we can start looking toward dealing with some of the other problems, like unemployment, starvation, and organized crime."

"So you actually want us to join up in the army?" Alec asked. "You've got to be kidding."

"It won't be mandatory," McElroy explained. "You were all raised in a military environment; it'll doubtlessly suit some of your people to return to that kind of structured lifestyle. But the abuse will end – you'll have an opportunity for advancement, you'll be paid, and you'll have the same rights and privileges as everyone else."

"And some of us demonstrating that kind of responsibility and loyalty to the country will make it easier for all the ones that decide to go their own way," Max concluded.

"Exactly," the senator confirmed. "At least, that's the plan. It'll be a tough sell, though. The majority of people still think that you're more trouble than you're worth. Although…" he added, his voice trailing off as his eyes darted away suspiciously, piquing Max's interest.

"Although what?" she asked.

"I've heard things, lately," McElroy muttered, his voice growing far quieter. "A certain word has been bandied about Capitol Hill, often in the same breath as the word 'transgenics.' It's a simple enough word, but I don't know that it's being used in the same context as I've ever heard it. Some people seem to know what it means, and others don't. I'm afraid to ask, for fear of letting on that I may know something I'm not supposed to."

"What's the word?" Max asked suspiciously.

"Familiars," McElroy answered. "Does that word mean anything to you?"

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To be continued………………………………

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Author's Endnote: Nope, I never know when to shut up. So now that the story is underway, let me know what you think. I totally listen to people's comments/criticisms/suggestions, so maybe something you do or don't like will be addressed.


	2. Know Thy Enemy

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: I just wanted to say a few words about character pairings (even though I know this is probably gonna get me in trouble with at least half of the readers).  I feel the need to address this topic to try to impress upon anyone reading this that character pairings are something that I take very, very seriously.**

First off, let me preface this by saying that I am not necessarily planning this to be M/A (it just happened that they spent a great deal of the first chapter together… doesn't mean it'll still be that way at the last chapter).  All I can/will say right now is that I haven't decided which way this'll likely end up (well, not totally, anyway).  I don't believe Max _has_ to end up with Logan, just because that's how it was in the first 1-½ seasons (before she dumped him), or because she happened to be holding his hand in the last scene. (Wasn't that just about as inconsistent as anything else they came up with in Season 2?  Perfect way to end the series, I think.)  Max is, like, 19 years old.  How many people out there know many 19-year olds that end up forever with whoever they're going out with then?  How many out there actually think a 19-year old girl and a 32-year old man have enough in common that they could make a relationship work?  Now add in the various and sundry complications that they have added in… do you still think it would _really_ work?  Tough questions, right?  I'm not saying that Max _can't_ end up with Logan, I'm just saying that there's a lot to ponder, and I refuse to keep them together just because that's how it was in Season 1.  (Also, I'm not entirely convinced the writers intended her to finally get together with Logan in Season 3, anyway.)  Now, if Max and Logan can't make things work, does that mean that she and Alec should necessarily happen?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  All I can say is that if (and that's a _big_ if) they get together, I'll try to have it make as much sense as it would if she and Logan get together.  So, to sum up, all I can promise is that whichever way it goes, I'll do my best to make certain it makes sense.  That's really all I can really do (since there's no way to satisfy every reader out there).  Thanks for putting up with my rambling explanation.

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II – Know Thy Enemy 

            "Do not attempt to adjust your set.  This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city."  _Here we go again,_ Zack thought with irritation.  He put down the papers he'd been going over and turned his full attention to the television screen, wondering what precious nugget of information Logan had come up with this time.  Virtually every one of Eyes Only's recent reports had been related to the transgenic situation, and Zack was beginning to awe at Logan's ability to come across fairly sensitive information.  _It's certainly making my job far easier.  Now if only he'd get someone else to do the reporting, so I wouldn't have to put up with his holier-than-thou, know-it-all voice…_

            "The government doesn't want you to know about a plague that's sweeping through a fairly isolated area within Israel and Palestine.  This plague appears to be 100% contagious and 100% lethal.  Not since the Black Death of the mid-14th century has mankind faced a pestilence that wipes out entire villages and towns at a time.  The authorities, those in the area and specialists that have been consulted around the world, have been unable to find a cure.  Now Eyes Only has information on an antitoxin that's been developed by the transgenics.  Though persecuted by normal humans, though threatened with extermination by their would-be peers, the transgenics have devoted time and energy to assisting with the cure of this disease before it can spread any further.  And why do they do it?  After all, the transgenics were designed with a heightened immune system that could very likely make them resistant to any bacteria or virus this world can produce.  They would probably have been better off letting this plague take its course, decimating the human population that seems so badly to want them dead.  As humanity may learn, though, that's not what the transgenics are about.  They were designed and trained to help humanity, and that's what they're doing, despite the fact that they might be better off letting us die.  Isn't it about time we at least start to wonder why we keep seeing them only with suspicion and hatred?"

            "It'll never happen, Logan," Zack grumbled as he switched off the television, turning back to the papers in front of him.  Captured in a raid his people had undertaken earlier that evening, he hoped these records would give him some kind of a lead on a new Familiar target to strike at.  Once again he stuffed down the fury that struggled to rise up within him, to take him over in its thirst for vengeance.  _I was so close,_ he lamented for the umpteenth time.  _If only Set hadn't interfered… if only Max hadn't sacrificed herself for those goddamned genocidal ordinaries._

            The records were like so many others his people had procured within the past three weeks.  Consisting mostly of numbers and cryptic phrases that were obviously code for the writers' true intent, the documents did little to help clear up the big picture.  _But I don't need the big picture just yet,_ Zack reminded himself.  _All I need right now is another target._

            His eyes flashed over the words as his fingers deftly turned page after page, his mind absorbing the content several times faster than most ordinaries could ever hope to.  Most of the decipherable information, what little there was, appeared to be genealogical charts for many of the Familiars.  The charts were not overly valuable in Zack's eyes – after all, they simply provided him with one or two targets that may yet be alive, and none of the charts said anything about the potential targets' locations.  Most of the data was simply background material that allowed Zack to understand more fully the dizzying scope of the breeding program and the potential strength of the enemy he had sworn to destroy.

            As he continued on, his mind cataloguing the material so that he could go over it more thoroughly later, Zack's attention was grabbed unexpectedly and his eyes screeched to a halt as he saw two rather interesting words.  _The senator?_ he wondered, hoping that he had finally gotten his hands on some information that would give the identity of a high-ranking government official involved with the breeding cult.  Like Logan and Max, Zack was reasonably certain that the Familiars had placed people in all walks of life, including the government.  _But how do you single out one or two people in a group of hundreds… or even thousands?_  The only possible tactic he had ever come up with was to look for individuals that were exceptional in some way, but that hadn't ever gotten him very far.  Many governmental bodies, especially on the national level, were absolutely packed with intelligent, ivy-league-educated men and women, many of whom had an athletic or military background.  _And couple that with the fact that every single one of them is protective of the details of their pasts, and coming up with potential suspects is all but impossible._

            Now he hoped he had finally made a breakthrough.  _Senator,_ he thought, running through his own mental list of each of the senators currently serving on Capitol Hill.  _But which one of them is it?  And is there only one?_

            "Sir," a stiff, female voice said from the entrance to his office.  Zack looked up immediately, locking his eyes on Brin as she snapped a formal salute then dropped her arms stiffly at her sides, awaiting leave to speak.

            "Report."

            "I've just come from the infirmary," she told him.  "Our two injured X6's will make a full recovery."

            "And our prisoner?" Zack asked curiously.  He knew it was still too early to expect to have learned anything useful, but sometimes Cassius, his X7 'interrogator,' surprised him with his effectiveness.

            "The prisoner is dead," Brin reported.  "It seems his injuries were too severe to withstand Cassius'… eagerness."

            "I see," Zack replied evenly.  Cassius was a true prodigy in the realm of inflicting pain in order to gain information, but occasionally he became sloppy, concerning himself more with getting his subject to speak rather than keeping the subject alive for later use.  Zack reminded himself to speak to Cassius about this unfortunate tendency.  "Have you finished going over your stack of papers?" he asked.

            "Yes, sir," Brin stated.  "I found two pieces of information that might be of particular interest.  The first is a reference to something called 'The Venetian Contingency.'  As with everything else, most of the associated text appears to be encoded, though my guess is it's some kind of Latin/Linear-A hybrid," she explained.  "I've never seen this particular code before."

            "Get Cipher on it," Zack ordered, referring to the X6 linguist that had joined Lydecker's forces before Zack was recruited.  Cipher was a valuable asset, and one of the only people Zack had persuaded to join him.  All the rest had signed up with 'Kilroy,' an anonymous soldier that Lydecker had apparently been grooming for leadership all along, behind Zack's back.  It still gnawed at him that while Lydecker had treated him as his second-in-command, he had always planned to have someone else take control of his private army if he ever fell.

            "I already gave Cipher copies of everything," Brin answered.

            "And the second piece of information?" Zack inquired.

            "It's another safe house," she told him.  "I could be mistaken, but the encoding leads me to believe it's located not far from here, about ten miles south of Vancouver."

            "Any details?" Zack asked curiously, his mind already going over his army's roster, selecting a team that he felt would be perfect for this job."

            "Not much," Brin admitted.  "I think it's the home of one of their priestesses."

            "So it'll be well guarded," Zack muttered.  He sat in silence for several minutes, trying to decide what kind of resources this next assault would demand.  "How badly was Osbourne shot up?" he finally asked.

            "Not too badly," Brin answered curtly.  "He's expected to be at operational status again within seventy-two hours."

            "Fine," Zack said.  "I want you to begin getting a team together," Zack instructed.  "Tell Osbourne to do the same.  Each of you gets eight people – you're the primary, and he's back-up."

            "Yes, sir," Brin replied.

            "Get your team up north as soon as possible and begin recon," Zack continued.  "Once Osbourne is ready, his team will rendezvous with you and you'll fill him in on the details."

            "Mission priority?" Brin asked.  Zack smiled at the question, which effectively translated to, "How long do we get to train before we go in there?"

            "Mission priority yellow," he answered, telling her to be thorough with her preparations, but to nevertheless get the job as done as soon as possible.  "And tell Cipher to let me know immediately if he starts making any kind of sense of that captured intel."

            "Yes, sir," Brin said with a sharp salute, turning on her heel and heading out of her general's office.

            _Thank God we got a lead,_ Zack told himself with a sigh of relief.  His teams had been struggling to find targets to continue their war against the Familiars, and every strike left him afraid that he might reach a dead end.  _Seems like we'll be able to keep this war going at least one more week, anyway.  The Familiars won't last forever, and once they're gone, I can finally turn my attention to the ordinaries.  The world will be safe for my transgenics.  I swear it._

To be continued…………………………… 


	3. My Sister's Ex-boyfriend's Keeper

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's First Note: I just want to take a quick moment to thank everyone for the comments posted for Chapter 2.  In so doing, I particularly wish to point out **JoJo**, **CheshireKitten**, and especially **Becky**.  I may not agree with everything they said, but it was all certainly well thought out and actually reminded me that I've been worrying far too much about the pairings and not enough about plot, character motivations, and development of supporting characters.  That ends **now**.  So thanks lots, all.  I can only hope that I make this story good enough to justify the interest of anyone that reads it.**

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III – My Sister's Ex-Boyfriend's Keeper 

            _Perfect,_ Logan told himself as he cut off his cable hack and mentally patted himself on the back.  He'd worked for over three hours on his latest Eyes Only report, struggling to find the proper balance of reporting and editorializing, tweaking every word and phrase to have the desired effect.  _And now maybe I should start working on my acceptance speech for the Pulitzer Prize,_ he thought gleefully, teasing himself just the slightest bit.  _As if._

            It had been so long since he'd really loved his gig as Eyes Only.  When he first started his cyber-journalistic quest for truth, justice, and the American way, his youthful zeal had carried him through the sleepless nights and lonely days.  As time went on, though, his fervor slowly cooled and he started to suffer setbacks.  It had made him feel as if he were slowly growing old beyond his years.  Witnesses disappeared, or were killed.  Law enforcement and other journalists started researching him, each with a different agenda.  Financial resources, even before the major reversal of a year earlier, had slowly started to dry up.  With every passing day it became harder to maintain his shroud of anonymity.

            Then he'd met Max.  One look into her eyes set him afire once more.  He was reinvigorated; he felt young again.  _All because of that devil-may-care look in her eyes,_ he remembered.  _It's that same energy, that same look, that's fueling the hopes and dreams of an entire people now._  He shook away thoughts of the present, all of them confusing and painful, and returned his thoughts to the past.  Even thoughts that included The Chair were no longer that uncomfortable.  He had spent a year in agony, imprisoned in a body that no longer complied with his demands, but he had eventually endured that challenge.  _And now I have a new obstacle to overcome – the prejudices of my fellow man.  Way to pick your fights, Logan._

            He sighed heavily, wondering at the work that still lay ahead.  It could take years of struggle, and in the end he would likely end up dead or in prison.  _But it just feels so damn good,_ he thought again.  Despite the dangers, he wouldn't prefer to do anything else.  For the third time in his life he felt what he'd come to refer to as The Crusading Flame – the overwhelming desire to inflict one's will upon the world, to change it for the better, to be that proverbial one man that could make a difference.  He felt it once when he'd started his work as Eyes Only, and then felt it a second time when he'd met Max, when her presence filled him with life.  When she had died – when he'd thought he'd lost her – the fire had gone out again.  Having her back again, but at a distance, hadn't changed anything.  In many ways, things had never been the same as they'd been that first year he'd known her.  Since then, they'd spent far too much time dancing around each other, 'not being like that,' and not enough time just being together, as they had in that happy time not long before.

            _And now she's gone again,_ he thought with a twinge of pain and sadness.  _Not that it should be any other way.  She was right to leave; she was even right to lie and try to make it about Alec.  It might have made things easier…_  He shook his head again, trying once more to chase away the problems that had recently begun haunting him.  _Forget that crap,_ he told himself.  _Concentrate on the important things, like that broadcast.  What a broadcast!!  I'm **so** the man!_

            A noise from the front of the apartment broke off his self-congratulating reverie, and he stood slowly, picking his 10mm pistol up off the desk in front of him.  He took off his shoes quietly, knowing that he would make far less noise walking around in his socks, crept to his office door, and looked out into the living room.  It was empty, but he heard another noise coming from beyond it, something that sounded like…  _Someone making tea?_ he thought in confusion as his teapot began to whistle.  _What the hell?_

            He exited his office slowly and carefully, keeping his body close to the walls the way he had seen Max do so many times.  Despite his intense concentration and anxiety, he found his eyes wandering, soaking in the surroundings that were at once so familiar and so alien.  Set had helped him repair most of the damage done to his old penthouse, and many of the destroyed works of art had been replaced with similar pieces funded out of Set's seemingly endless financial resources, but it still just didn't feel quite like home.  It was the little things that really kept reminding Logan of that fact.  _Like having to carry a weapon around with me every moment of the day,_ he noted silently.  _Never really had to do that in the old days._

            Arriving at the kitchen, he burst into the room, immediately leveling his pistol on the last person he had expected to find in his home.  "Syl?" he asked weakly.  The young woman turned and looked him over, smiling with amusement when she noticed his weapon.

            "Hi, Logan," she said gregariously, holding the teapot right over a large coffee mug that had strings from two teabags hanging out of it.

            "What are you doing here?" Logan asked, wondering at Syl's eerily calm demeanor.  She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she wasn't supposed to be there, or that Logan was completely weirded out by her making herself so at home.

            "I'm your new bodyguard," Syl said with a shrug, her blonde hair bouncing as her expression developed a mischievous tinge.  "Max wants you safe.  And since you and I already know each other, she figured I was the obvious choice.  I guess I'm supposed to, you know, make you feel safe without making you get too awkward around someone you don't know at all."  She poured the water into the cup, and then picked up a bear-shaped plastic container of honey, taking several seconds to add enough honey to overwhelm any hint of a taste of tea.  Logan simply watched this entire process in silence, trying to figure out what he could possibly say that might help him reshape the scene into something that made sense in his mind.  He found it was not an easy process.

            "What are you talking about?" Logan finally asked, silently admitting that he'd lost any semblance of control over the conversation and should probably just go with the flow.  He walked into the kitchen and looked in the fridge for a can of soda, trying to seem as nonchalant as his guest did.  "I didn't hear anything about you coming over."

            "Communications are almost completely cut off in Terminal City," she reminded him as she hopped up to sit on top the counter, perching herself right at the edge, a playful, blonde gargoyle gazing across the room into Logan's eyes.  For the briefest moment Logan wondered how she had managed the maneuver without spilling a drop of tea from her almost overflowing mug, but he shook the question from his mind as she continued to explain herself.  "Max wanted to make sure you're safe, especially since you had the bone-headed idea of moving back into your old digs."

            "Bone-headed?" Logan repeated.  "I wouldn't exactly say it's bone-headed."

            "No, you're right," Syl replied sarcastically, her eyes lighting up as she talked.  "This is obviously one of the most tactically sound decisions you could possibly have made.  Setting up shop in a location that's been compromised by the enemy…  Nice move, Logan."  She flashed him a patronizing smile and whipped her head slightly to the left, shaking her hair out of her face before locking her gaze onto Logan once more.

            "It's not like that," Logan protested, trying to explain why he felt it made sense to return to Foggle Towers.  "It's just --"

            "It's just that it feels familiar?" Syl guessed.  "Fine.  But Max sent me here, so here I am."

            "It's really not necessary," Logan assured her.  "I'm perfectly safe."  _And besides, I can't have you finding out what I've been up to,_ he added silently.  He knew there would be virtually no way to hide his activities from a resident X5.

            "Of course it's necessary," Syl said evenly, her amusement vanishing from her face and her voice brooking no argument as her playful grin turned into a grimly determined visage.  Logan knew that expression well – he'd seen it on Max's face numerous times.  _Is that another thing they taught the kids at Manticore?_

            "Look, Syl, I really appreciate the offer," he responded calmly, "but Max probably needs your help more than I do.  She's the one under siege.  I'm pretty much free to operate as I will.  Besides, Set shows up from time to time.  If I need a hand, he'll be more than enough."

            "First of all, dropping by from time to time is hardly the 24-hour protection that Max wants for you," Syl countered.  "Second, your role as Eyes Only is pretty crucial to her plans succeeding.  We can't risk someone hitting you here.  Again," she added evenly, though there was a playful grin that once more passed across her face momentarily, letting him know she was partially teasing him.  "And finally," she added, "Max has to play out her situation as peacefully as possible.  I'm a strategist, Logan.  I'm most comfortable when I'm throwing together plans to take out insanely well-defended targets with just a handful of people.  I don't see much point in coming up with a hundred contingency plans that Max will never use.  It's sort of a waste of time, actually, and if I'm going to waste my time, I want to have some fun doing it."  She slid off the counter and back to her feet, taking a half step toward Logan as her eyes began to scan her surroundings.

            "I can all but guarantee you're not gonna have much fun here," Logan replied.  "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in charge of a small army planning to take on any insanely well-defended targets."  _Yep, conceal the truth by telling the truth in the guise of a lie,_ he told himself.

            "Well, I won't see any combat, but that doesn't mean it'll be boring around here or anything," Syl commented, suddenly striding past Logan and out into the living room.  She looked around quickly, continuing her survey of the décor, and then turned to Logan with a curious look on her face.  "Where is it?" she asked.

            "Where's what?"

            "Alec mentioned that you have a PlayStation 7," she told him.  "Where is it?"

            "You're kidding," Logan answered.  _Syl seemed to be completely business every time I've seen her,_ he thought.  _It's hard to believe that deep down inside is a young woman that likes video games as much as Alec does._

            "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Syl asked him.  "Over ten years on the outside, surrounded by people who are boringly ordinary," Syl commented.  "After awhile one finds ways of amusing herself for hours on end."  Syl's demeanor baffled Logan – her facial and verbal expressions reminded him so much of Max, while her train of thought, so random and self-involved, reminded him of Alec.

            "Fine," Logan said, surrendering himself to the fact that he was likely to have a guest for at least a few days.  _Until I can get a hold of Max and talk her into pulling Syl back out of here, anyway,_ he decided.  "It's in my bedroom," he told her, pointing down the hall.  "Just try not to spill any of your tea in there, okay?"

            "Fine," Syl shot back, turning and giving him a radiant smile that could only be produced by a woman that got a man to let her have her way.  "You're not gonna leave me alone in your bedroom for too long, though, I hope."

            "What?" Logan asked immediately, shocked that he hadn't somehow stumbled over the one syllable word.

            "Oh, I don't believe it," she replied, seeming shocked that he thought she had been propositioning him, though Logan had the feeling that her double entendre had resulted exactly as she had planned.  _She likes making me squirm,_ he realized, wondering how he would manage to retain his sanity until he could get in touch with Max to have her recall Syl.  "Get your mind out of the gutter, Logan," the X5 added with a sly smile.  "I only mean that I expect you to join me for a few games."  She waited a moment, and then said, grinning ever wider, "And when I say games, I mean _video games_, perv," she added teasingly.

            "I don't believe this," Logan muttered once Syl had walked into his bedroom, leaving him alone, standing in the middle of his living room.  He knew that just having Syl around was an incredibly unacceptable security risk, as her overhearing just a part of any one of his innumerable conversations could betray the fact that he had a rather well developed agenda of his own that he wasn't sharing with Max.  _I'll just give it a couple of days,_ he told himself again.  _Then, once she sees just how boring it is around here, I'll try getting her out of here again._

To be continued…………………………… 


	4. Plans and Schemes

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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IV – Plans and Schemes 

            "Show him in," Lillith purred, directing the nine-year old girl that served as her handmaiden.  "Then go down the hall and wait at your desk by the outer door," she instructed.  "No one else is to join us.  Is that understood?"

            "Yes, Matron," the girl answered, fixing her gaze on the floor, never looking at Lillith or the woman that was with her, seated in a corner next to the lit fireplace.  The child departed and Lillith turned to her guest, planning to use the few moments of privacy they were provided.

            "Remember not to speak until you're spoken to," Lillith reminded her.  "I will not be interrupted."

            "Of course, Matron," the woman answered, nervously smoothing the pleats in her long black skirt as she crossed and uncrossed her feet, obviously struggling to find a seemingly relaxed, casual appearance that belied the truth.  Like the child had, she also avoided any eye contact with Lillith.

            "He may be uncouth enough to direct some questions toward you," Lillith added.  "If he does so, make certain you look to me for permission to answer.  There are some things we may not want him to know.  Full disclosure will not serve our purposes here."

            "Of course, Matron," the woman repeated.

            "And make certain you never make a move to leave," Lillith added absently.  "I would speak with you when this meeting is concluded."

            "Of course, Matron," the woman said again, not varying her tone in the least from her earlier statements of acquiescence.  To Lillith's ears the woman seemed a parrot, endlessly repeating back the few words she had learned.  _But then again, that's certainly not the case with this one,_ she reminded herself.  _She's one of our best and brightest.  She'll do her job well._

            There was a soft, almost imperceptible knock at the thick, darkly stained and intricately carved cherry door.  "Enter," Lillith muttered, knowing the small child's hearing would be good enough to detect her invitation from outside.  The door slowly opened, swinging noiselessly on its ornate iron hinges.  A lone man entered, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the details.  Lillith allowed him this luxury, knowing that doing so would only aid her cause.  The room had been specifically designed to be as intimidating as the woman that used it.  Constructed in a long oval, with the door at the far end from Lillith's desk, it was lit primarily lit by the fireplace, built off-center behind Lillith's right shoulder.  Guests began by sitting in a brightly-lit waiting room that then led into a short, pitch-black hallway that served as a foyer for the study.  Entering the office, a visitor's first view of Lillith was as a dark, vaguely perceptible silhouette outlined by the dancing red and orange light of the flames within the fireplace.

            The floors were made of darkly stained wood, which contrasted sharply with the narrow, bright red rug that led directly from the doorway to the front of Lillith's desk.  As the man stepped into the room, his feet fell on a nightingale board, an addition inspired by Japanese daimyo that had them installed in their castles to better defend against intruding ninja.  With every step forward, the floor beneath the man let out a sharp whistle that seemed to make him more self-conscious with every stride.  By the time he sat down in the large, leather-upholstered chair in which Lillith directed him to sit, the man was shifting uncomfortably, directing his eyes from side to side, avoiding meeting Lillith's gaze while also obviously attempting to seem defiantly comfortable in his surroundings.

            "Welcome to my humble abode, Mr. Blue," Lillith said evenly, addressing the man by the code name which her contacts had arranged for him.  She briefly considered addressing her guest by his real name, to see how he would react, but decided against that tactic.  He seemed uncomfortable enough already, and there was little point in risking the possibility of offending him with the knowledge that Lillith's associates had violated the anonymous trust of the meeting.

            "Hello, Ms. Red," Blue commented, addressing Lillith.  "And who is your associate?"

            "This is Ms. Black," Lillith commented with an absent wave toward the woman sitting to her right, clearly conveying that the second woman was of little importance.  "She has some information that may be pertinent later on.  As she is an expert in this particular field, and I am not, I took the liberty of inviting her to join us.  If her presence is a problem, I would be happy to ask her to leave."

            "Of course not," Mr. Blue said smoothly, leaning back slightly as he finally dared to lock gazes with Lillith.  No sooner had he done so than he diverted his eyes away again, seeming no more comfortable with the look in her eyes than many others had been over the years.

            "Could I offer you some wine?" Lillith offered, gesturing to a large crystal carafe that sat at the corner of her desk.  In the dim light, the red wine within seemed as dark as blood, and Lillith could only guess whether the stories her guest had no doubt heard about her were making him wonder if the 'wine' was, in fact, the very liquid it appeared to be.  Mr. Blue shook his head almost imperceptibly to decline the offer, and Lillith took a moment to look him over more closely.  His complexion was dark, as she had expected from a man that had spent his life in the desert, and his dark hair and deep brown eyes displayed his Semitic heritage.  He wore an expensive charcoal gray suit that Lillith could tell was Italian, likely tailored in Rome, though she couldn't place the designer.  In all, he was exactly what she had expected.

            "Well then, I suppose we should dispense with our business," Lillith commented.

            "Absolutely," Mr. Blue concurred.  "I need only know what your price is."

            "My price?" Lillith asked innocently, as if it was beneath her to partake in the trafficking of information.  "Since when has our relationship devolved to the base level of buyer and seller?  I was under the impression that your associates and mine are the best of friends."

            "Be that as it may, my superiors are concerned about confusing business and friendship," Mr. Blue replied with a thin smile on his face, seemingly oblivious to the possibility that his words could have offended his hostess.  "We appreciate all you have done for us in the past, but recent circumstances being as they are, we would prefer to keep this particular exchange of information clearly in the realm of business."

            "I understand completely," Lillith said with a satisfied smile.  _So much the better,_ she thought happily.  She would gain some kind of payment for her people, and still easily retain the gratitude of Mr. Blue's masters.  "There are some ruins outside of Hebron," Lillith said evenly.  "My associates are interested in excavating these ruins and removing certain artifacts that may, God willing, still be present after all these long years."

            "Arrangements will be made," Mr. Blue assured her.  "Is that all?"

            "That's enough," Lillith replied, satisfied that her peoples' archaeologists might finally be able to lay their hands on the remains of Jepthah, one of the breeding program's patriarchs.

            "Then what can you tell me?" Mr. Blue inquired.

            "The plague that hit certain isolated areas in the Jordan River valley appears to be natural, though its unheard of deadliness leads our researchers to believe that it is actually man-made," Lillith responded.

            "Our own scientists have already concluded as much."

            "What you may not know is that the pathogen itself is, for all intents and purposes, identical to a certain biological agent that some of our people were able to smuggle out of a lab in the ruins of Tehran two years ago," Lillith added.  "Ms. Black can give you data on that agent if you desire.  She may even be able to provide samples if you can guarantee their safety."  Mr. Blue looked at Ms. Black, who brushed her dark brown bangs out of her ice blue eyes, smiling thinly in response before uncrossing and re-crossing her feet once more.

            "I think appropriate preparations can be made," Mr. Blue assured her.  "And this reported antigen that has apparently been developed by this country's transgenics may be of some help."

            "That's our hope, also," Lillith agreed, stuffing her fury deep down, making certain she didn't betray her true feelings regarding the transgenics.  "We were able to examine a sample of this transgenic antigen, and all preliminary tests indicate that it is, indeed, effective in treating this plague that your enemies appear to have designed."

            "Not only designed," Mr. Blue snarled, for the first time displaying a reaction other than cool self-control.  "The heathens actually tested their germ on my people.  Thousands are dead, and they hoped to conceal their tests by using it in the areas surrounding the ruins of Haifa.  As if my people would be stupid enough to believe that this plague could have been the result of nuclear fallout."

            "Perhaps they didn't expect you to overlook the truth at all," Lillith suggested, her voice suddenly rich with concern.  "One of my superiors theorizes that al-Quryash may be planning to strike at you, that he only hoped you would miss hitting upon the truth until it was too late."

            "Meaning he's going to attack," Mr. Blue concluded.

            "Perhaps," Lillith said, pleased that her guest had drawn the desired conclusion without her having to lay it all out for him.  "This plague may only be one of many that they've developed.  As strong as it is, it may not be the most potent agent that they've been able to create."

            "Some in our government have expressed the same fear," Mr. Blue confided.  "They've even gone as far as to suggest that we launch a preemptive attack to prevent another outbreak of disease."

            "Or further nuclear devastation," Lillith chimed in.  "It's likely that they've replenished their nuclear weapons by now."

            "That is another concern," Mr. Blue admitted.  "But after the devastation of the last war, there are many that would prefer we never strike first again, even if holding back eventually resulted in our destruction."

            "Sacrifice yourselves to ensure the survival of everyone else?" Lillith asked with amusement, wondering at the sudden disappearance of the eye-for-an-eye mentality that she had always enjoyed in Mr. Blue's culture.  "That's quite noble, but ultimately defeatist."

            "I agree," Mr. Blue commented.  "But be that as it may, I've been asked to inquire as to whether there's anything you can offer us."

            "I don't follow," Lillith responded, hiding her glee at Mr. Blue's question.  She wanted him to have to ask for something specifically.  Future favors were rarely gained by freely offering assistance.

            "Your associates have done substantial research in this area," Mr. Blue replied.  "Let's be frank, Ms. Red.  My nation was almost completely wiped out in the War of '13.  It has taken almost all of our resources just to keep our people fed and build up a conventional military capable of defending against the most likely forms of attack.  There's been virtually no research done regarding weapons of mass destruction.  We have only three scientists in our whole country who are able to do any kind of significant research in this area, and they're forced to work with equipment that was obsolete years ago.  Your people, however, have the expertise and the resources to have developed some rather nasty pathogens."

            "Our interest is in prevention," Lillith said smoothly.

            "Your interest is in maintaining the status quo at all costs," Mr. Blue retorted.  "You and yours enjoy positions of great influence.  Major changes in the global balance of power could upset your standing, as The Pulse almost did not too long ago."

            "I think you'd find my people are still well off," Lillith said, pleased that Mr. Blue, and perhaps his associates, still appeared to believe that she represented a global conglomerate that dabbled in everything from commodities trading, to genetic engineering, to biological warfare technology, to mass media outlets.  They were taken to be the people that built and destroyed governments on a whim, who could make or break politicians' careers, and who could start wars at the drop of a hat.  _And of course, that's all absolutely true,_ Lillith thought happily.  _It's only the details concerning our true nature that have thus far eluded all those that know of us, and deal with us._

            "Your people have something mine could use," Mr. Blue admitted.  "We would like your assistance.  My nation has been in existence for decades, and we have always done business with you.  We would hate to lose a relationship that has been so profitable for both sides."

            "Of course," Lillith cooed.  "My superiors feel exactly the same.  We will provide you with samples of the agent we recovered in Tehran, as well as some data that some of our people have put together concerning theorized development in your enemies' programs.  That should, at the very least, give you some idea of what to expect if they try releasing one of their experimental plagues in your territory once again."

            "And more importantly, it will give us a chance to come up with a cure," Mr. Blue said hopefully.

            "We can only hope as much," Lillith replied, mustering as much sincerity and concern as she possibly could, hoping that she seemed believable.  She had no idea whether she succeeded in displaying a sentiment that was so foreign to her experience.  From the look on Mr. Blue's face, though, he was buying the story hook, line, and sinker.  "These weapons are not like anything that's come before," she added, deciding that laying her presentation on a little more thickly wouldn't hurt anything.  "The fallout from your last war was bad enough, but the result of bio-warfare could mean the end of life on a global scale.  For obvious reasons, my people will cooperate in any way possible to help you counter this threat."

            "And if we asked for some of the more potent samples you've been able to develop over the years?" Mr. Blue asked.

            "I assume you mean to use these biological weapons only as a means of deterrence and in development of viable treatment alternatives," Lillith responded, continuing to concentrate on exhibiting concern in her voice.  It was hard to do when every fiber of her being screamed for her to encourage her guest to convince his superiors to actually use these weapons.

            "Deterrence is our goal, but if it doesn't work…"

            "I understand," Lillith assured him.  "You will not go gentle into that dark night.  I admire your strength of will, but this is not a mere trifle you ask of me.  This is a gravely serious issue, Mr. Blue, and I'm not sure I can be of assistance in this matter.  Sharing R&D data is one thing, but handing over advanced bio-weaponry to a nation that has already been irresponsible enough to deploy nuclear weapons in modern warfare is something else entirely."  _Yes, make him work for it,_ she reminded herself.  _If we're too willing to give him what he wants, he'll have to wonder why._

            "This is not something we take lightly," Mr. Blue said evenly, his tone making Lillith wonder if he was trying harder to convince her or himself.  "We would consider this a great service.  It's not something we would ever forget."

            "Of course not," Lillith replied, "but you gave me the impression that this was a business meeting.  Am I now suddenly to understand that we're speaking once more as friends?"

            "If you please," Mr. Blue said awkwardly, just as Lillith had hoped.

            "Then as a friend, let me assure you that I will take this proposal to my superiors," she told him.  "Just know that this is not a service we would generally consider undertaking for just anyone.  Though of course, there will be a price."

            "Of course," Mr. Blue muttered.  "Thank you, Ms Red," Mr. Blue added with a genuine smile, rising from his seat and extending his hand to Lillith.  "It's been a pleasure."

            "Of course," Lillith responded pleasantly.  "You're staying at the Royal Arms, yes?"

            "Yes."

            "Ms. Black will personally deliver the information your people have requested," Lillith assured him, noting with pleasure the thin smile of anticipation that spread on Mr. Blue's lips when he looked over Ms. Black's alluring figure once again.  _Yes, she'll do her job very well,_ Lillith decided again.  "I will consult with my superiors regarding your other request.  I trust that you will also make arrangements with Ms. Black to receive delivery of the more… fragile samples, should we decide to make them available to you."

            "I understand," Mr. Blue assured them.

            Lillith waited impassively for her guest to leave, the nightingale boards whistling with his every step, singing him along on his way. Once he'd closed the door behind him, Lillith turned once more to Ms. Black.  "Now you're certain that you have a working vaccine, correct?"

            "Yes," Ms. Black assured her, "but as I told you, we'll need time to culture it to make certain all of our people can be treated before any of the germs are actually deployed."

            "And our friends, of course, will need time to develop their own cultures," Lillith pointed out.  "The virus you give them will not be usable in its current volume, correct?"

            "Not entirely," Ms. Black replied nervously.  "It's usable, but certainly not as effective as it could be at higher concentrations.  As long as we have none of our own people in the region, our ranks should be free of any losses that may otherwise result from carelessness on the part of our friends.  I just would have preferred if we'd held off on this move until we had all of our people treated.  This is cutting it very close."

            "Those decisions are not up to you," Lillith reminded her young guest.  "The transgenics have proven to be more of an irritant than many had expected… though I still believe they are not quite the threat the Small Ones claim they are."  _The Small Ones,_ she thought, turning the words over in her mind.  _The name fits – they really don't see the big picture.  But then again, are we overlooking a detail that might prove to be rather important?_

            "I'll simply increase my efforts," the young woman assured her superior.

            "Make certain you do," Lillith said.  "Even as we speak, one of our associates is meeting with a representative of al-Quryash, convincing him that the plague outside Megiddo is the result of Israeli biological weapons development that suffered from a lack of containment," Lillith told Ms. Black.  "The Arabs will be furious at the fictional Israeli program, and they'll believe what we tell them is true, since the Israelis obviously need some kind of weapon of mass destruction to defend themselves against their Arab enemies, who are so superior in numbers."

            "The United Arab Republic will wish to defend itself against this threat," Ms. Black concluded.

            "Of course," Lillith agreed.  "And we'll give them samples of our pathogen, claiming we captured it in a lab outside Haifa.  Then, as we did here with the Israelis, we'll provide the Arabs with a bio-warfare agent they can use on their enemies."

            "A second, different agent," Ms. Black guessed.

            "Yes," Lillith confirmed.  "The Israelis will get the agent based on smallpox.  The Arabs will get the one based on the pneumatic plague.  We'll send in a team to incite the outbreak of a conventional war, and once both sides react militarily and build up along their borders, we'll release our own mutated strain of Ebola on the gathered forces.  Each side will conclude, of course, that the other is responsible for the release of the bio-agent."

            "They'll destroy each other, and the rest of humanity, all by themselves," Ms. Black concluded.

            "And we'll hardly have to lift a finger," Lillith said.  "Now you see the importance of getting back to the lab," she said to the young woman.  "We're about to make use of your engineered agents, Doctor.  I expect you to have inoculated all of our people by the time your weapons are deployed."

            "Of course, matron," Ms. Black said as she stood and left.

            _Such a simple plan,_ Lillith thought with satisfaction as she turned and looked deep into the flames within her fireplace.  _All we need to do is keep it a secret until the ordinaries do all the dirty work themselves._  She grinned with satisfaction at the ease with which the Familiars were able to manipulate the ordinaries.  _They're all so suspicious of each other,_ she thought happily.  _They're all so willing to destroy each other, even at the cost of their own lives.  It's no wonder we're to inherit the world._  Her eyes darkened, then, as she conjured up images of the transgenics and the failure at Megiddo.  _It must not happen again,_ she decided.  _Ames White and those of like mind with him may be overreacting to the transgenic 'threat,' but they may serve those of us that understand our destiny._  She pushed the intercom button on her desk and cleared her throat.

            "Yes, matron?" the young girl asked from her desk down the hall.

            "Contact Ames White," Lillith instructed.  "Request that he meet with me at his earliest convenience."

            "Of course, matron," the girl replied.

            _Ames White's concerns may be as unnecessary as a doorbell on a crypt, but he may yet be of some use,_ Lillith decided.  _It never hurts to create a diversion.  And while the transgenics are busy trifling with White, they'll completely overlook what the rest of us are up to.  The only question that remains is how to best motivate young Agent White…_  A smile came to Lillith's face as she arrived at an obvious answer.  _He's a Small One, like a child,_ she reminded herself.  _And like all children, he'll be best motivated to do something by forbidding him from doing it._

To be continued…………………………… 


	5. Kilroy Was Here

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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V – Kilroy Was Here 

            "Sir," Set said evenly, saluting Logan as he walked into the small office. What had recently been a bullet-riddled, burned out husk of a room was once again a thriving workspace that was growing increasingly crammed with expensive, top of the line computer equipment.

            "You don't need to salute," Logan said, just as he always did.  He found it amusing that anyone, but especially Set, would choose to salute him.  _I'm so obviously not a soldier._  "How many times do I need to tell you that?"

            "It's the one order I choose to ignore, sir," Set replied.

            "And don't call me 'sir,' either," Logan added.

            "Yes, sir," Set answered.  Logan could have sworn that he saw the shadow of a friendly, playful smile pass over the X5's face, but it was gone before his mind had even registered it was there.

            "Suit yourself," Logan said with a sigh.  "What do you have to say?"

            "The raid was a success," Set reported simply.

            "Casualties?" Logan asked immediately.

            "We had two wounded, though not badly at all, sir," Set said.  "They'll be ready for action again within a couple of days.  We killed the two enemy guards."  Logan simply nodded his head in understanding.  He hated the thought that people under his command had killed their opposition, and he was kept up at night by the thought that these deaths resulted from his orders.  _But this is a war,_ he reminded himself.  _I may not like what I do, but I have to do it.  If I don't take this responsibility, someone else will have to.  And I know that someone would be Max._  He chased that thought away and turned his full attention once more to the report.

            "This is the attack on that island in the St. Lawrence River?" Logan asked, making certain he knew which assault was being referenced.  His forces generally had at least three plans in the works at any given time, and though the St. Lawrence River strike was next up on their agenda, things had a way of changing.  Logan always left those tactical decisions to his second, trusting Set to choose the proper time and place for a strike.

            "Yes, sir," Set confirmed.  "It was the supposed summer home of a commodities trader from Charlotte.  Our suspicions were correct – it was a Familiar safe house."

            "What did you find out?"

            "The man who owned the home appears to have been in charge of a small cell responsible for influencing the futures market," Set informed his commander.  "His files were rather extensive, and very few of them were encoded."

            "You're kidding," Logan said, feeling excitement well up inside him.

            "No, sir," Set answered.  "A great deal of the information referred to economic markets.  That information does not easily lend itself to encoding, as investment companies and commodities are already listed under abbreviations, and prices are given in constantly changing numbers that it would be unwise to change in the interest of security."

            "Understood," Logan assured his second.  _It makes sense, actually.  A simple enough code could probably have been developed if they wanted, but they would have run the risk of a faulty decryption leading to financial ruin, and the effort involved likely wasn't worth the minimal gain that would have been derived._

            "The one curious thing, sir, is that there's also some fairly sensitive information that would usually have been encoded, but in this instance wasn't," Set added.  "There was a large computer mainframe in the basement… I can only conclude that this site was a data entry and storage center, though there were no data entry terminals or a support staff that lends any credence to that conclusion.  We captured several documents that I would classify as sensitive – names and covers of some of the Familiars is tops on the list."

            "Names and covers?" Logan asked, hoping he wasn't openly drooling with his anticipation at this piece of intelligence.

            "Complete with locations," Set added.  "Unfortunately, there's no information on what role these people play in the overall scheme of things.  For all we know, we just got our hands on a bunch of foot soldiers that aren't even good enough to be given a mate," Set grumbled.  "Well, except for maybe three of them, anyway."

            "What do you mean?" Logan asked, his heart pounding in his chest as he pondered the possibility of having some truly damaging information.

            "Senator Hastings is one of the names," Set said with a joyfully sinister smile.  "His information was set aside in a file with two other people."

            "Who?" Logan asked, bracing himself to hear two more familiar names.

            "A man named Bryan Roe, who's posing as an import-exporter, and a woman named Theresa Caine.  She's a scientist of some sort."

            "I don't recognize either of them," Logan muttered, swiveling the seat of his chair around and typing the names into his computer to begin a search.  "Is that Kane – K-a-n-e?"

            "No, C-a-i-n-e," Set corrected.

            "This'll take awhile," Logan said once he turned back to his field lieutenant.  "Let me see what you have."  Set passed the papers over, and Logan perused them for several minutes before handing them back and picking up a phone.  He switched on his voice modifier as the line rang, and smiled when Zack picked up at the other end.

            "Who is this?" the X5 demanded.

            "This is Kilroy," Logan said, knowing that the modifier would make it all but impossible for Zack to recognize his voice.  With that accomplished, all he needed to do was speak uncharacteristically slowly, making certain the inflections and pronunciations in his voice were not like his usual speech pattern – he was willing to bet that even with his voice disguised, Zack would recognize him if he wasn't extremely careful.  Logan knew enough about X5 capabilities to make certain he never made any stupid mistakes.  "I need some information."  He glanced at Set, and noticed with approval that the X5 was looking up locations on several atlas programs that were on one of the other computers in the room.

            "And why should I give you any information?" Zack asked.  _This act is getting old real fast,_ Logan thought impatiently.  Every time he called Zack, he went through the same routine.  By now he could almost have written out the conversation before it occurred.

            "We're fighting a common foe," Kilroy said, just as he always did.  "As your Manticore superiors taught you, the enemy of your enemy is your friend."  Logan smiled at that phrase, grateful that he'd been around that night before the attack on the Gillette facility.  He was getting endless mileage from some of the clichés that Lydecker had made use of in his attempt to get Zack, and by extension, those who would doubtlessly follow him, to go along with the suicidal idea.

            "How many times do I have to tell you that bringing up the colonel is not the best way to get me to give you what you want?" Zack asked.  Despite his adversarial attitude, though, Logan was certain the X5 would come through with the information he needed.

            "I'm on a schedule," Kilroy muttered.  "Are you going to help or not?"

            "What's in it for me?" Zack asked suspiciously.

            "I'll give you all my recently captured data if you give me copies of what you have," Logan offered.

            "No deal," Zack replied.  "How about this – we trade information _and_ you stop sending some of your people to recruit my soldiers away from me.  You're really starting to piss me off with that routine, you know?"

            "Fine," Kilroy grumbled, just as he always did.  It was the part he played – seeming irritated by Zack's lack of total cooperation.  In truth, Logan couldn't care less.  He simply wanted what he wanted.  Zack could complain about his people being recruited away from him until he was blue in the face, for all the good it would do him.  The truth was that Logan never ordered his soldiers to partake in such activity – they did it on their own, as individuals from both groups seemed to mix from time to time.  "In our last conversation you mentioned that you captured some genealogical charts.  I'd like to know the family histories of a few people," Kilroy said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

            "Who?"

            "Bryan Roe, Theresa Caine, and Senator James Hastings," Logan told him.

            "Theresa Caine?" Zack asked, surprising Logan by singling her out of the three names.  He'd thought it far more likely that he would have expressed interest in Hastings.

            "You know her?" Kilroy asked.

            "Yes," Zack said immediately.  "I'll get you a full copy of her genealogy in a few minutes, but do you want the highlights?"

            "If you don't mind."

            "She's White's cousin," Zack said evenly, practically bringing Logan's heart screeching to a halt.  He knew his expression must have changed, because Set had stopped what he was doing and was now paying complete attention to Logan's conversation.

            "Are you sure?" Kilroy asked.

            "Sandeman was Caine's mother's brother," Zack explained.  "That's all I have on her, though.  How did you come across any information on her?"

            "My people hit a safe house on an island in the St. Lawrence River.  There was a ton of unencrypted data there."

            "Anything you'd care to share?" Zack predictably asked.

            "Maybe," Kilroy teased.  "I'm looking at my mainframe, and I don't see that you've uploaded any of the information I asked for."

            "Fine," Zack complained.  "Give me a few minutes.  We'll continue this later."

            Logan disconnected the line without another word and smiled at Set.  "Theresa Caine is Sandeman's niece."

            "Which means she's probably as eager as White's ever been to distance herself from the heresy of some of her family members," the X5 commented.  "I don't like the thought of that kind of a character trait being found in a scientist."

            "For all we know she's an astronomer," Logan said, though he knew in his heart that that was fairly unlikely.  The dubious look that Set directed at him let him know that his second shared his sentiments.  "Then again, she's probably not," Logan admitted.  "So did you find out anything else that could be of interest?"

            "Well, there's no such place as Crab Island," Set answered, pointing at one of the pages and indicating that Crab Island was Caine's present location.

            "There's got to be a Crab Island somewhere," Logan retorted, surprised that such a predictable name hadn't been used at some point.  "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me there were half a dozen Crab Islands around the world."

            "Actually, there are seven that I found," Set responded evenly, producing a confused look from his commander.  "The thing is, though, that there's no Crab Island that is away from civilization."

            "Okay, you lost me," Logan admitted.

            "See the addresses for Hastings and Roe?" Set inquired, pointing them out on the paper.  "There are road addresses, city, state, and country.  For Caine, all it says is Crab Island.  The only conclusion I can come to is that Crab Island is otherwise uninhabited."

            "I have a bad feeling about this," Logan muttered, combining Set's suspicions with the information that Caine was a Familiar scientist that was likely rabidly loyal and desperate to prove it.

            "We already know that they've been secretly developing the snake pathogen for The Coming," Set said.  "It would make sense to keep that isolated somewhere, in case it got out."

            "Or in case they wanted to experiment on it, trying to change it enough to get past the vaccination Max's blood produced," Logan concluded.

            "Or if they wanted to come up with something completely different, something even worse, hoping it would get past a transgenic's immune system."

            "We have to tell Zack," Logan muttered, glancing toward his computer screen and seeing that the information he wanted had still not arrived.  _I'm not interrupting him right now,_ he decided, turning back to Set to kill the few more minutes he assumed he'd have to wait.  "As soon as he gets me those files, I'll let him know what we suspect."

            "Yes, sir," Set responded formally, as usual not questioning Logan's decision, despite the fact that Logan had purposely inflected his voice to let Set know that any input was welcome.

            "What else do we have to go over?" Logan asked, deciding he and Set could dispense with the routine daily reports before turning their attention back to the more pressing concern of Theresa Caine.

            "Two of our cells saw action last night," Set reported.  "In Portland, two X6s from TRC-612 Delta Epsilon stopped a transgenic hate crime --"

            "No," Logan interrupted, "don't refer to it as a hate crime."

            "What would you prefer?" Set asked incredulously.  "A small mob of humans tracked down a transgenic and started assaulting her.  The only motivation seemed to be that they hated transgenics.  That sounds like a hate crime to me."

            "Just say they assaulted her," Logan muttered.  "The last thing we want to do is start talking about anti-transgenic violence as hate crimes.  Hate crimes don't exist in this country."

            "Umm… yes they do," Set answered.  "At least, in most states, anyway."

            "People are free to hate whomever they wish," Logan replied, wondering why he was even bothering to engage in such an esoteric conversation with a young man who'd been trained to understand little more than combat.  "I don't care what the statutes say, Set.  This is America, and just because some old men trying to get re-elected thought hate crime legislation was a good way to seem more sensitive to their constituents doesn't mean I agree, and it doesn't mean that we're going to start pressing the issue, okay?

"If a man hits someone because he doesn't like something the guy said, it's assault.  If he hits someone because he doesn't like what the guy is, it's _still_ assault.  It's a crime no matter how he felt, and punishment will result.  We're pushing for equality for transgenics.  How can you get that if you even consider trying to get hate crime legislation to cover your people down the road?  By doing that, you'd be calling attention to the very differences you claim are so irrelevant.  Your people can't have it both ways – you can't say you should have equal rights everywhere you go, and then expect special treatment if people do something to you that you don't like.  You understand?"

            "I think so," Set muttered, his eyes half-closed as he clearly tried to process all that Logan had said.

            "Good," Logan said.  "So what was the outcome of our intervention in the assault?"

            "The transgenic woman escaped and was later located by our team," Set explained.  "She agreed to join up.  We met with similar success in St. Louis, where a pair of X7s were initially engaged by members of TRC-278 Lambda Omicron.  Two of our people were injured, but in the end the X7s agreed to cease their resistance and join up."

            _Cease their resistance,_ Logan thought with amusement, wondering if he could have come up with a better euphemism for 'deciding to stop shooting.'  He didn't think he could.

            "Anything else?"

            "The unit of X7s we have operating in Sault St. Marie has succeeded in locating another Familiar dummy corporation," Set reported.  "They proceeded to hack into all of the existing sub-companies and were able to embezzle over eighty-five million dollars before uploading the Gehenna Virus, which subsequently crashed the raided computer systems."

            "Good," Logan said, pleased not only with the information Set relayed, but also by the fact that Zack's upload had been completed.  "Let's go through this information and get back to Zack, ASAP.  We have to figure out what the Familiars are up to before it's too late."

            The two men turned back to the computer screens distributed throughout the room, neither of them noticing the almost undetectable sound of a central air conditioning grate being put back in place.  In the adjoining room, Syl's mind raced along as she contemplated all that she'd learned over the previous fifteen minutes.  _Logan is Kilroy,_ she thought in disbelief.  _I never would have guessed.  And he's working with Zack, too…  I never would have seen that coming._  She stood and started to pace back and forth across the thick carpet, knowing that even Set would be unable to hear her carefully placed steps as she continued to toss the information around in her mind.

            _Max has told me how pissed she is at Zack for his little war,_ she remembered.  She thinks it's been hindering her attempts at convincing the ordinaries that the transgenics don't pose a threat.  _And she's been pretty much against everything that Kilroy's done, too, for pretty much the same reasons… though she doesn't know that Logan is Kilroy._  She rubbed her temples as she felt her stress level continue to rise.  _Should I tell Max?_ she wondered_.  Or should I just do something about this myself?_

_To be continued……………………………_


	6. Time to Breathe

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: I know I'm taking my own sweet time getting this story going, but as I warned in the first place, this is going to be more character driven than _Unnatural Selection_.  Please be patient as I spend time with the characters.  Things'll get moving along pretty well soon enough.**

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VI – Time to Breathe 

            Max leaned back against the pitted concrete wall, wrapping her hands around a Styrofoam cup of coffee, allowing its warmth to sink in through her skin.  It was good to feel warm… it seemed as if it had been too long since she'd had the luxury.  _The last time I was really comfortably warm was out in the desert,_ she thought absently.  _And of course, I ended that trip being so cold._

            "Hey, Boo," Cindy said as she walked up, a broad smile on her face.  Max wondered how her friend had been able to maintain such high spirits, even after being under siege for a month when she could likely have left whenever she wanted to.  "How's it goin'?"

            "It's goin'," Max muttered, wondering at the strange feeling of becoming more tense even as Cindy came up to her.  _I must really just need to be alone,_ she realized.  _There's no other reason for preferring even to have Cindy go away._  "I was just pondering the situation," she added, deciding to start up a friendly conversation despite her desire for privacy.

            "You mean the whole deal about a senator comin' to visit?" her friend asked with a smile.  "I know I'd be buggin' if I had to do that.  Too much formality or somethin'."

            "He really wasn't like that," Max muttered, her hands closing around the coffee ever more tightly, distorting the shape of the cup's lip from a circle to an oval.  Max watched the liquid inside slide across the smooth white surface, losing herself in the simplest of diversions.

            "You aight?" Original Cindy asked.  "Max?"

            "Huh?" Max asked, realizing she must have been zoning out again.  "Sorry.  Just have a lot on my mind is all."

            "I guess so," Cindy agreed.  "You've become a leader, and now you're meeting with senators and stuff.  That's cool."

            _That's cool,_ Max thought with a smile, grateful that her friend still saw anything she did as being 'cool.'  It was a welcome change from the cult of personality so many others seemed to be building up all throughout Terminal City.  "Thanks," she muttered, though Cindy's expression told her she had no idea what she was being thanked for.

            "You're welcome."

            "It's nice just to talk, isn't it?" Max asked.  "Especially at night… it seems so peaceful.  You'd never know, just looking around this small room, that we're surrounded by thousands of troops, and thousands more civilians that are champing at the bit to spill our blood."

            "It'll be aight," Cindy assured her.  "You've handled worse, right?  I mean, when you were in Israel you actually died."  Max gasped as her friend said the words, and she knew her eyes were wide, most likely seeming half-crazed, as she stared at her friend.  "What?" Cindy asked uneasily.  "What I say?"

            "I didn't die out there," Max said, shocked and hurt that Original Cindy, of all people, would ever have bought into that story.  _She knows me better than most anyone else in the world.  Why would she start believing I pulled a modern-day Lazarus?_

            "Everyone says you did," Cindy responded.  "You had to have noticed."

            "Just because they say it doesn't make it so," Max argued in a low voice.  "You actually believe I came back from the dead?"

            "I don't know what to believe," Cindy said with a shrug that told Max she didn't even think the matter was worthy of much thought.

            "You lived with me for how long?" Max asked.  "You worked with me day in, day out.  You've gone drinking with me God knows how many times.  Now _you're_ buying into this 'coming back from the dead' crap, too?"

            "You shot yourself in the heart, right?" Cindy asked.

            "So?' Max countered.

            "Then you fell into a pool of water and floated around for a bit while your blood all drained out, right?"

            "What's your point?" Max hissed.

            "And when they pulled you out, your heart wasn't beating, right?"

            "It was," Max objected, seeing exactly where Original Cindy was going with this conversation.  "Just very slowly, that's all.  I _wasn't_ dead."

            "And were you breathing?" Cindy asked.

            "Sure I was," Max answered.  "Just very slowly."

            "Like your heartbeat."

            "That's right," Max responded, feeling as if she wasn't succeeding in her argument at all.

            "Alec is a transgenic, isn't he?" Cindy asked, suddenly changing the topic.

            "You know he is," Max retorted.  "He's an X5."

            "Which means he has heightened senses and all, huh?" Cindy asked with a rueful smile.

            "Yes."

            "And he didn't hear a heartbeat," Cindy stated.  "He didn't hear you breathing.  He was convinced you were dead, just like Logan was."

            "But I wasn't," Max continued to argue, though she could see she would never convince Original Cindy.

            "You were, Boo," Cindy said.  "You have to accept that."

            "I was no more dead than a bear that's in hibernation," Max countered.

            "Is that so?" Cindy asked.  "You see, I look at it this way – over a hundred people here in Terminal City believe that you died and came back to lead them.  It seems only you believe otherwise."

            "And Alec," Max replied.  "He doesn't believe it, either."

            "Oh, I think he believes it more than the rest," Original Cindy retorted.  "Like that doubting Thomas guy in the Bible, he actually examined your wounds and saw for himself that you were as dead as a doornail.  I don't think anyone could ever convince him that were still alive, no matter how well they explain the science behind your so-called torpor, or whatever the hell you call it."

            "That's not true," Max said evenly, convinced she was right about Alec, if nothing else.  "He doesn't treat me like the rest of them do.  Even you treat me differently now."

            "Alec is just an irreverent little cuss," Cindy said.  "You could line up Mohammed, Moses, the Buddha, Lao Tzu, and Jesus Christ, and wouldn't get so much as a how-do-you-do from him unless he thought he'd get something out of it."

            "Huh?" Max responded, still stuck on Cindy's reference to Lao Tzu.  She'd never heard Original Cindy reference some of the more obscure Eastern religious figures, and she was completely unsure of what to say next.

            "Alec is only treating you like he always did because he knows that's what you want," Cindy explained.  "Don't you see that?"

            "You're wrong," Max said.  "He's the only one --"

            "-- That what?" Cindy interrupted.  "He's the only one that what?"

            "Never mind," Max grumbled, deciding that she would just watch Alec carefully next time she saw him to decide for herself if he was really just faking his reaction to her.  She didn't have to wait long.

            "We might have a problem," Max heard Alec say, drawing her gaze as he and Joshua joined the two women.  "I think we're almost out of tryptophan, Max.  Of course, that's only gonna be a problem for the X5's, but there are plenty of us here."

            "Crap," Max muttered.  It had been hard enough getting food and water for her people, and now she was faced with tracking down tryptophan.  She had no idea how to deal with this problem.

            "How much more do you have left?" Cindy asked.

            "Assuming no one's body starts to crash, we should be okay for about three days," Alec told them.  "But if just a few of us start getting seizures, we're gonna fly through the little bit we have left."

            "Any ideas?" Max asked.

            "Well, I do have one," Alec replied.  "I was reading the Bible last night and --"

            "You were reading the Bible?" Max asked, trying to imagine what the punchline to this joke would be.  Something about Alec saying, 'I was reading the Bible last night,' sounded so much like Sketchy saying, 'So three guys walk into a bar, an Irish guy, an English guy, and a Scottish guy.'

            "You find that surprising?" Alec countered.

            "Yes," Max and Cindy said in unison.

            "Well, maybe it's something about being in this terribly hopeless situation or something," Alec explained, "but I just felt the need to find some spiritual guidance."  Max was certain that even Alec was having a hard time keeping a straight face with that particular line.

            "Fine, you were reading the Bible," Max said, deciding to go along with Alec for now.  She still waited for the punchline, though.

            "That's right, I was reading the Bible.  And there's this story about where Jesus is preaching to thousands of people, and they start to get hungry and all, and he turns, like, a cheeseburger and some Twinkies into enough food for everyone."

            "I don't think that's how the story goes," Cindy muttered with a thin smile.

            "Me either," Max agreed, trying to keep a stern expression on her face.

            "Well, maybe a few of the details are off by a little bit or something, but it got me thinking," Alec said.  "Since Max is apparently some kind of divine savior, maybe she can miracle up some more tryptophan for us."

            "That's not funny," Max snapped, her slight feeling of mirth melting away in an instant.

            "Well neither is the way people have been acting around you," Alec shot back.  "But you don't seem to be trying to convince them that you're not what they think you are."

            "What are you talking about?" Max asked.

            "I overheard you and Cindy talking," Alec admitted, "and I think you'd better start either accepting the way people view you, or otherwise do something to stop it.  Pretending that people don't view you as some kind of cult-like figurehead isn't going to solve the problem."

            "And what about you?" Max asked.

            "What do you mean?"

            "How do you view me?"

            "What _exactly_ do you mean?" Alec said, trying to clarify her question.  "You want to know whether I think you came back from the dead?"

            "Yeah," Max said.  "That's exactly what I want."  She felt her pulse quicken as she waited for Alec's answer, part of her dreading confirmation of what Cindy had told her, and the other part confident that he would prove to be far more rational than Cindy had given him credit for being.

            "You didn't come back from the dead," Alec muttered.  "I've seen enough people die, Max.  My experience in the 'real world' might be limited, but I've seen enough to know that dead people don't come back."  The friendly light that had been behind his eyes just moments before suddenly blinked out, giving way to the dark, forbidding gloom that Max had always thought made Alec look haunted.  Once again she was reminded of all of the horrors she had avoided by fleeing Manticore when she had, horrors that Alec had ended up confronting on an almost daily basis.

            "Alec, I --"

            "Forget it," he said, cutting her off as he stood to leave.  "It doesn't really matter, anyway.  I know you didn't mean anything."

            "You don't have to leave," Max responded, curious at how eager she was to keep him around.

            "I have to check the perimeter," he told the two women as he stalked away, disappearing into the first shadow he reached.  Max watched him go, replaying the conversation over and over in her mind, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong, and how she could have done any better.

            "Boy's got issues," Cindy commented.

            "He feels guilty," Max replied.

            "He feels lonely," she heard Joshua say from behind her.  Max whirled to look up at Joshua's large body looming over her.

            "How long have _you_ been there?" she asked, amazed that she seemed completely incapable of getting some alone time.

            "Long enough," he said with a trace of a smile, his gaze darting back and forth as he seemed to struggle with the dueling desires to make eye contact with a friend, and to avert his eyes in the presence of the Transgenic Savior.  "I heard you say you don't like the way people look at you."

            "Sorry, Joshua," Max said quickly.  "I didn't mean for you to hear that."

            "I don't like the way people look at me, either," Joshua responded.  "Well, the people _out there_, anyway," he added, gesturing out toward the perimeter.  "I know what it's like to feel different."

            "I know," Max muttered.  "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, Joshua."

            "I didn't mean to make _you_ feel bad," he replied.  "This is whack, huh?"  He sat down heavily, gathering a light blanket around him in a makeshift cloak.

            "Yeah," Max agreed.  "None of us is ever gonna fit in, are we?"

            "Sure you will, Boo," Cindy said.  "Don't be thinking like there's anything out there that's actually normal, k?  There's no such thing.  All right, so you're a transgenic messiah, come back from the dead.  Joshua here is a two-legged version of man's best friend, I'm a black, pro-transgenic lesbian, and Alec is a guilt-ridden, borderline sociopathic former assassin.  Oh, and let's not forget your old friend Zack, who's not only a transgenic cyborg, but also the leader of his own private army.  And Logan is a formerly paralyzed cyber-journalist who broadcasts his version of the truth through his pirated webcasts.  We're all freaks, Max – every one of us.  Bein' either transgenic or ordinary don't give you a pass on that.  We a whole _nation_ of freaks, girl.  It's just easier to tell with some of us."

            "You really believe that?"

            "You tellin' me you _don't_?" Cindy asked with obvious surprise.  "So your people think you came back from the dead for them.  So what?  Like Alec said, it ain't really like you've tried to discourage them or anything.  Let me tell ya – if they don't see you as different because of that, it'll be for something else.  The truth is that they need you to be different, boo.  You're their leader, and to them that means you're better than them, that something about you gives you the moral authority to command them."

            "So I might as well shut up and accept it is what you're saying," Max concluded.

            "Damn skippy," Cindy agreed.  "You have to get them out of here alive, Max.  You think it'll hurt any if they believe you came back from the dead?  Let them have their cult, Max.  Just keep focused on the big picture, okay?"

            "And the big picture is keeping them alive."

            "That's right.  Keep them alive and get them somewhere safe.  Getting them to see you as just an ordinary person is so unimportant compared to those other things that you shouldn't even worry about it right now.  There'll be plenty of time for that other stuff later."

_To be continued……………………………_


	7. A Meeting of the Minds

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: Well, character building parts like Chapter 6 are all fine and good, but they need a plot to string 'em together.  With that in mind, here's a plot-heavy chapter.  Thanks for all the comments, too.  Please keep firing away with your thoughts – they certainly help keep me inspired.  Also, in response to one particular comment, the word 'evenly' does not appear once in the entire chapter.  :)    (See how I pay attention to my readers?)**

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VII – A Meeting of the Minds 

            The lights of the abandoned paint warehouse were even dimmer than Max had hoped, lending an eerie, distracting glow that fizzled from three long fluorescent lights that only had a short amount of life left in them.  The hazy, flickering light made Max feel as if she had walked into a television screen displaying only static, and she felt a strange wave of nausea start to build up within her.  _Well, the dim lighting is certainly welcome, but getting queasy from it sorta sucks._

            She walked slowly, with only Alec and her decoy, Erin, following closely at her heels.  It had been too risky to bring anyone else past the National Guard's siege of Terminal City, although Alec had complained bitterly that it was incredibly unsafe for Max to go anywhere without a sizable contingent of armed guards.  She wondered at that.  _Sometimes he sees me as just the same old Max,_ she thought happily, _and then he goes and starts talking about me like I'm some kind of indispensable figure who can't be risked for anything.  Maybe OC was right, despite what Alec himself said._  The seeming inconsistency wore on Max's nerves, but she refused to raise the issue with the other X5.  _He's just trying to do his job,_ she reminded herself.  _And as long as he isn't genuflecting every time he enters my presence, I guess I should tolerate his over-protectiveness._

            The three transgenics rounded a corner and saw a rickety old steel table set up with a small video screen and a camera.  Standing in front of the table was Senator McElroy, dressed in an expensive blue pinstripe suit, accompanied by three burly men, each of whom was holding an assault rifle.  The senator breathed an obvious sigh of relief when he settled his gaze on Max and her two compatriots.

            "They've requested that you not come any closer," he said, gesturing to his guards and seeming genuinely apologetic.  _Of course he seems sincere,_ Max told herself, making certain she never took the senator at face value.  _He's a politician – he's had a lot of practice making himself look sorry for one thing or another_.  "My men have concerns about whether or not they'd be able to react quickly enough if you decide to double-cross us."

            "And how do _you_ feel?" Erin asked.  "You think we're here to take you out?"

            "You were designed to have genius-level intelligence," McElroy retorted.  "I expect you to realize that an alliance with me, however distasteful it may seem at present, is likely the best way out of your present dilemma.  So if you're asking me whether I trust you to respect the peace of this meeting, my answer is yes."

            "You just don't think it's because of any inherent nobility on our part," Alec commented.  "You figure enlightened self-interest will stay our hand."

            "And do you think of me any differently?" McElroy asked in a well-practiced tone that sounded both patronizing and endearing at the same time.  "I never claimed to be your friend, so let's cut the BS.  I want something you can give me, and vice versa."  He looked the transgenics over and smiled.  "So why don't we just get down to it, eh?  Which one of your two is Max?" he asked, looking from Max to Erin.

            "Guess," Max answered.

            "Just make sure you get it right," Erin added.

            "Because if you move wrong and take out one of us, the other one will be _very_ displeased," Max said.

            "Don't look at me," Alec said with a grim smirk.  "I can't tell them apart, either."  The senator simply grinned with apparent amusement and turned to the video monitor.

            "So what do we do now?" McElroy asked.

            "Just turn it on," Alec instructed.  "My understanding is that the connection is already established."  McElroy looked at the screen and pushed a small green button on the bottom right hand corner.  Within moments they could all see Logan's eyes, revealed on his traditional Eyes Only screen.

            "Hello, senator," Eyes Only said.  "It's nice to finally get to talk to you."

            "I was under the impression that you'd be here in person," McElroy replied.  "I could have appeared online just as easily if I knew this was going to be a video conference."

            "My identity is my greatest secret.  Not even my closest allies know who I truly am," Eyes Only lied.  "I don't make exceptions to that most basic rule; not for transgenics, and not for senators.  My understanding is that you want information, Senator McElroy.  If that's incorrect, or if you don't think it's worth putting up with the circumstances of the meeting, then feel free to leave.  I'm obviously in no position to stop you."  Max smiled at Logan's words, noticing how much more he had become like he'd been when she'd first met him.  In the beginning he'd been the noble crusader, willing to stand up to anyone at anytime.  As the days, months, and years had worn on, though, and as he'd grown more involved in the transgenic cause, he seemed to compromise a little too often.  He had shied away from the larger stories, the more disturbing truths.  Max doubted that Logan would do that any longer.

            "Fine," McElroy grumbled.  "As you say, I want information.  I asked Ms. … umm…" he trailed off while looking at Max and Erin, as if he was trying to remember a last name that he'd never been told.  "I asked Max if she knew anything about the Familiars," he finally continued.  "She said she knew a bit, but that you likely knew more.  So she set up this meeting."

            "The Familiars, as they often refer to themselves, are the products of a breeding cult," Eyes Only replied.  "From what we've been able to gather, this cult has been in existence for at least three and a half millennia.  Obviously this kind of information raises a lot of questions."

            "You can say that," McElroy replied.  "But let me be clear on what we're talking about, first.  You used the word 'cult' – are you saying that this is some kind of a religious thing?"

            "Partly," Logan answered.  "We know that the Familiars have a fairly well developed belief system of some sort, but we still don't know if it's a deistic religion, an animist set of beliefs, or something entirely different.  What we do know, and this is what's truly important, is that they've been selectively breeding their members for thousands of years."

            "Are we talking about eugenics?" McElroy asked, clearly taken aback by what he'd been told.

            "It seems that way," Eyes Only confirmed.

            "So what else do you know?"

            "The scientist you know as Sandeman is one of them," Eyes Only said.

            "The man that started up the Manticore Project?" the senator asked.  Max saw a small bead of sweat appear at McElroy's at that small bit of information.  He seemed genuinely shaken.  _Strange,_ she thought to herself.  _I wouldn't have expected this kind of a reaction.  Sure, I figured he'd be shocked by what he heard, but to get this worked up he'd actually have to believe everything we're saying.  I didn't think someone like him would have that much trust in him._

            "Sandeman was privy to some of the cult's greatest secrets," Eyes Only said.  "Chief among these secrets was The Coming, which was their version of the apocalypse.  They had a genetically engineered virus that they were planning to release into the world.  Sandeman designed the transgenics not to defend the interests of the United States, as he made you believe, but to protect all of mankind from his own kin.  The plague that recently broke out in the Jordan River valley is the biological agent the Familiars have been developing for as long as they've been working on their own genetics."

            "That's the disease that your people came up with a cure for, right?" McElroy asked, turning to face the transgenics.  Erin and Max nodded in confirmation.  "So what now?"

            "Now we expect the Familiars to do something else," Eyes Only answered.  "By attempting to unleash The Coming, they've made it clear that they intend to cease waiting on their prophecies and actually bring them to pass.  The existence of the transgenics poses a huge threat to them – there's now a group that can stand against them."

            "How do you mean?" McElroy asked.

            "For millennia they've been selecting the strongest, fastest, and brightest of each generation," Eyes Only responded in his typical monotone.  "You know what the transgenics are capable of, senator.  Let me explain the Familiars' capabilities by saying that most of them are physically capable of standing toe to toe with any transgenic up to and including the X6's."

            "Only up to the X6's?"

            "The later generations haven't fully matured yet," Max said.  "From what we've seen so far it looks like the X7's will be stronger than any other generation.  Even the X8's aren't as powerful as the X7's."

            "That's because the X7's started measuring off the charts at the age of two and three years old," McElroy said, offering information that Max had never heard before.  She was grateful that she'd get at least something out of this meeting.  "There were concerns as to whether we'd be able to control the X7's and their successors, so we scaled back some of the physical development.  Physically, the X8's should end up being on a par with the X5's and X6's, but they'll be more intelligent and adaptable."  The senator stopped and looked at the transgenics before him, as if he was waiting for them to ask questions.  When none of them spoke up, he continued.  "So, back to the Familiars – you're saying what, exactly?"

            "We're saying they look like any human," Erin replied, "and that genetically it's virtually impossible to identify differences between them and an ordinary."

            "An ordinary?" the senator asked in a condescending tone.

            "You don't like being an ordinary?" Alec asked.

            "I like myself just fine," McElroy assured them.

            "Then I guess we can be assured that you didn't take the comment personally," Alec said with a smile.

            "Of course," the senator countered smoothly.  "So do you know who these Familiars are?"

            "We've identified some of them," Eyes Only said.  "Most of them remain anonymous, though.  So I'd advise you to be rather careful."

            "How so?" McElroy asked.

            "We already know that at least one senator is a Familiar," Eyes Only said, eliciting a surprised look from everyone in the room.

            "Who?" Max and McElroy inquired in unison.

            "Hastings."

            "How did you find that out?" Max asked.  _How in hell could Logan have stumbled across that kind of information?_

            "He was the third child in his family.  Also, a source of mine placed him in that wonderful prep school we visited a while back," Logan answered, explaining everything to Max while leaving McElroy thoroughly in the dark.

            "What prep school?" the senator asked.  "So what if he was the third child?"

            "Those are trade secrets," Eyes Only answered.  "Rest assured that all of our information indicates that he's one of them."

            "But you have no hard evidence?" McElroy asked.

            "This isn't exactly something that's added to a birth certificate," Eyes Only explained.  "All we can ever go on is supposition, and that's the true danger of these guys.  Humanity is concerned about transgenics, senator, but most of them are clearly identifiable at twenty paces.  And the ones that look human still have barcodes."

            "The Familiars, though… they're the stuff nightmares are made of," Alec commented.

            "Enough," Max barked, seeing where the conversation was going.  She'd be damned before she allowed humanity's paranoia to simply be transferred from one target to another.  _I want acceptance of who we are,_ she reminded herself.  _I don't want us to receive a reprieve simply because we're the lesser of two evils._

            "This is truly disturbing," McElroy said.  "What can I do?"

            "What do you mean?" Max asked.  Max had hoped that she would, at the very least, be able to use this meeting to gain a greater degree of McElroy's trust; never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would actually gain an ally.

            "If what you say is true, and I expect you'll be able to provide me with some proof, then they've already tried to wipe out humanity," McElroy said breathlessly.  "Obviously, they have to be stopped.  What can _I_ do?"

            "You can be careful," Eyes Only said.  "If they suspect that you know anything, they'll probably take you out."

            "I'm a senator," McElroy protested.  "They can't just kill me."

            "Sure they can," Alec replied.  "I did enough work for Manticore to know that senators are vulnerable."

            "No," McElroy gasped.

            "Yes," Alec said with a grim nod.  "And congressmen, and governors, and just about anyone else that gets in the way.  If I could get to them, then the Familiars can, too.  It's that simple."

            "Which is why we'd like you to hire an intern," Max commented.

            "An intern?" McElroy asked curiously.  "How is that going to help?"

            "I guess it depends on the intern," a new voice said as a young woman walked into view.  She stood about 5'9", with the same athletic figure of any other X5.  Her red hair, falling down to her waist, was done in two tight braids that slowly swung back and forth as she strode up to join the conversation.  Her light brown eyes locked onto the senator's as her pale, freckled face lit up with a well-practiced smile.  "I'm Cassandra," she said, walking past the other three transgenics as she extended her hand.  The guards looked her over suspiciously, and one finally moved to interpose himself between her and the senator.

            "Jackson, please," McElroy muttered.  "I think we're safe enough here."

            "No, he's probably right to stop me from getting any closer," Cassandra commented.  "But I hope he learns to loosen up a bit after awhile.  I plan on being with you every minute of every day."

            "Excuse me?" McElroy asked.

            "She's your new bodyguard," Erin explained.  "You'll introduce her around your office as a new intern, and she'll stay close to help protect you in case our enemies figure out that you know about them."

            "I already have guards," the senator pointed out.

            "And like you said, their ability to protect you against us could fall into question," Max said.  "Some of the Familiars are as good as we are, so it stands to reason that they could also get past your security.  We can only hope that they might not fare so well against Cassandra."

            "I was trained to be a bodyguard," Cassandra stated.  "It's the one and only thing I'm good at, senator.  You'll be safer with me than with anyone else."

            "Fine," McElroy relented.  "As you say, this might be a good idea.  So that brings me back to my question – what can I do?"

            "First off, we need to find out where the Familiars might be," Erin said eagerly.  Max almost hissed as her clone spoke, having hoped that they would be able to put the breaks on this conversation.  _I might be paranoid,_ she admitted to herself, _but I think McElroy might be a little **too** willing to help us.  But then again…_

            "They have to have access to some high-tech facilities," Max said cautiously, hoping her doubts didn't come through in her tone.  "Not to mention military-grade weapons and vehicles, like we saw them with at Jam Pony.  These are things that you might be able to trace, senator."  She decided that despite her concerns, she would give their new ally the benefit of the doubt for the time being.  She would give McElroy the opportunity to put his money where his mouth was.  _If we can get the senator to help, then fine.  If not… well, I guess we can deal with that later._

            "We also have questions about the last director of the Manticore project – a woman named Renfro," Erin said.  "She seemed to know a lot about what was going on… she knew more than Lydecker did, that's for sure.  She did independent genetic work-ups of all of the transgenics, like she was looking for something.  Special Agent Ames White did the same thing when he captured any of us.  Since he's a Familiar, we can only assume that Renfro was, too."

            "Renfro?  And White's a Familiar, too?" McElroy asked dubiously.  "Are you sure?"

            "Hasn't anyone noticed the man's acting like he has an agenda independent of whatever it is his agency is telling him?" Max asked.  "Is everyone that clueless?"

            "I guess it does make sense, actually," McElroy admitted.  "So information on him could be a possible lead, too."

            "Also find out who got him clearance to take matters into his own hands at Jam Pony," Erin said.  "That decision had to come from somewhere, and I'll bet that whoever it was that made the call is one of them, too."

            "You think a lot of people in the government are in with them?"

            "We have to assume they are," Max said.  "If we assume otherwise, we might get burned real bad."

            "I also have some information that I've come across," Eyes Only added.  "I'll transmit the information to you once you can provide me with a secure mainframe I can upload the data to."

            "Give me 24 hours on that," McElroy responded.  "So, is there anything else?"

            "Not right now," Max said.  "Why don't you leave first?  We'll wait five minutes or so, and then we'll follow."

            "Fine," McElroy replied, already walking away quickly, two of his guards ahead of him, and Cassandra and his third guard falling in behind."

            Once the senator had gone, Max turned back to the computer screen.  "You gonna be around your place tonight?" she asked Logan.

            "Yeah."

            "I was thinking I'd stop by," she said.  "I'd like to see some of the information your sources have gathered.  Besides, you said you wanted to talk about Syl…"

            "Sounds great," he responded, his tone making him appear none too thrilled at the prospect of having company, despite his friendly words.

            "I'll see you in a bit, then."  Max pushed the green button to turn off the screen, and a moment later she disconnected the line.  Then she heard the shout of pain and surprise.

            Erin was on the ground, struggling to pull herself into a seated position even as Alec tackled Max to the concrete floor, holding her down with his left hand as he drew his 10mm with his right, scanning the area for a target.  Max noticed a red splatter pattern on the wall behind her clone and concluded immediately that someone had fired a shot, though she had never heard it.  _The sniper is using a silencer,_ she realized, _and he's far enough away so that none of us could hear the report even with our heightened senses._

            "Where'd it come from?" Alec shouted to Erin, who had likewise drawn a weapon and held it in her right hand, her left arm hanging limply at her side.

            "I don't know," she yelled back.  "I didn't hear a shot.  Just get out… I'll hold 'em here."

            "Damnit," Alec cursed, knowing that Erin's words had just betrayed the fact that she was the decoy.  The hidden sniper would now change targets, and that meant bullets would be flying in his direction, next.  "Let's go," he yelled, pulling Max with him as he rose to his feet.

            "No," Max protested.  "I'm not leaving her."

            "This is what she's here for," Alec shot back.  Erin started firing, and Alec caught a faint glimpse of several shadowy figures approaching, staying close to the walls so as not to be seen too easily.  "We're leaving, Max."

            Max tried to resist, only to have Alec's fist pound into her right temple, completely knocking her senseless.  "I'm sorry," she heard him whisper into her ear.  She wanted to snap his neck in retaliation, but it was all she could do to keep her feet under her as Alec half-dragged, half-carried her away as Erin continued to fire.  Max turned her head groggily and looked back at Erin, even as she continued to fight to break free from Alec's grasp.  What she saw, however, convinced her that Alec had the right idea – they should get away as quickly as possible.  Erin had pulled the pin from a grenade and lobbed it at her attackers.  The last thing Max wanted was to be caught in a paint warehouse on fire.

            The grenade's blast echoed through the building moments later, and within a heartbeat Alec and Max were both blown off their feet and onto the ground by a secondary blast that Max assumed was the explosion of some volatile chemicals in the plant.  Max had no idea how long it took her to regain her senses, but by the time she did, the warehouse was a raging inferno.  Alec was out cold next to her, and for the briefest of moments she considered leaving him behind.  Deciding against that, she gathered him up into her arms and walked away as quickly as she could, hoping her attackers had been killed in the fire, and that she would be able to get clear of the area before the authorities arrived.

To be continued…………………………… 


	8. Somebody To Lean On

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: While the events herein are occurring, Alec is off on his own, running another errand for Max.  You can read all about it in _Three Hail Mary's_, which is a stand-alone story written to complement this one.  In fact, it'll likely complement it to the point that some of the events that occur there may have bearing on this story later on, so I highly recommend that you read _Three Hail Mary's_ if you want to keep up on everything.  Also, thanks lots for the feedback.  It not only helps motivate me, but it also made me realize I was overlooking something that needed to be addressed in this chapter.  It was a minor point, true, but I hate overlooking some of the details.**

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VIII – Somebody To Lean On 

            Max looked up at Foggle Towers, grinning at the memories of all the good times she'd spent in the building.  _It was the best robbery of my life,_ she thought happily.  _I had no idea at all how much I would profit from that job._  A botched break-in led to her being discovered, and the owner had eventually become a close friend, a man she had sometimes thought of as her soul mate.

            She had already felt as if she'd been run through the wringer during the past month, only to be shocked at the events of the night.  _Another good soldier dead!_ she cursed.  _And this time there's no denying it was because of me.  After all, she was my decoy._  She only hoped that Alec would be all right as he tracked down needed supplies by himself.  Max had hated sending him off alone, but in the end she realized she had little choice.

            Max chased the disturbing thoughts from her mind and opened the front door to the building, immediately feeling more comfortable in the familiar surroundings. She strolled into the lobby, smiling at Freddy, the retired cop that worked nighttime security.

            "Max," he said with a warm, grandfatherly smile as he looked the young woman over.  "You're sure a sight for sore eyes.  I was afraid I'd never see you again after that incident upstairs at Logan's."

            "Well, you know Logan," Max replied happily.  "He never did know when to stay away, whether some gang-bangers were pissed at him or not."  _If only it had actually been gang-bangers,_ Max thought.  _Then Logan's decision to move in wouldn't be quite so asinine.  And then he has the nerve to try to force Syl out._  The decision to send Syl to Logan's made lots of sense in Max's mind, and she'd figured that Logan would express some resistance to the idea, but she hadn't actually expected him to call her up to request that Syl be removed.  That particular move had come as a surprise, and Max had been offended when she realized how much Logan didn't want her help.

            "So you gonna be able to keep coming around?" Freddy asked.

            "We'll see," Max promised.

            "Well if you ever need a place to lay low for a bit, you feel free to come here, okay?"

            "Huh?" Max asked in surprise.

            "Come on, Max, I watch the tube from time to time," Freddy said, "though you might not guess that by looking at me," he added sarcastically, patting his large stomach.  "I know what you're into, and I know you're good people."

            "Thanks, Freddy," Max said, knowing her eyes were likely as wide as saucers.  "I'll keep that in mind."  She strode past the guard and walked into the elevator, enjoying her growing feeling of bliss as she made the trip up to Logan's.  Once there she knocked softly on the door and waited patiently to be welcomed in.

            "Who is it?" she heard Syl ask from inside.  _Well, at least Logan's smart enough to let Syl answer the door for him._

            "It's Max," she answered impatiently.  "Think you could let me in before someone sees me out here?"  She had hardly finished her question before the door was opened wide and she saw Syl looking her over, as if she was searching her for any sign that she could be a threat.  "Hey," she muttered, noting that the other X5's unexpected behavior didn't let up as she spoke.

            "Logan didn't tell me to expect you," Syl commented.  "Let me see if he's available."  She turned and walked away toward Logan's office, leaving Max standing alone at the door, feeling like some unwanted door-to-door salesman.

            _See if he's available?_ she thought incredulously.  _You've gotta be kidding._  She waited several minutes, hearing slight murmurings from Logan's office but not being able to pick out any words from the conversation.  Finally, Logan came walking out, his face somewhat impassive though his eyes definitely displayed his pleasure at having the visit.

            "How's it going?" he asked, an awkward, almost forced smile giving his face a slightly unreal appearance.  He almost reminded Max of an older version of a Ken doll.

            "Erin's dead," Max muttered.  "Someone tried to kill me, and she took the bullet."

            "I'm sorry," Logan said sympathetically.  "Why don't you sit down?"  Max nodded her head as she walked farther into the apartment, plopping herself down heavily on Logan's living room sofa.  "Can I get you anything?" Logan offered.  "How 'bout a beer?"

            "Sounds great," Max responded, trying to muster a thankful smile.  Moments later Logan walked out to join her, a beer in each hand.

            "Would it help to talk about it?" Logan asked, though Max detected something strange in his voice.  _Or is it the lack of something that's actually strange?_ she wondered.  Logan simply sounded different to her, though she couldn't place exactly how.

            "There's really not much to talk about," Max muttered.  "We went to the meeting, and right after we disconnected the line with you someone opened up on the group.  Erin went down right away.  Alec dragged me away, and Erin threw a grenade.  I think she actually blew herself up to take out whoever hit us."

            "You have any idea who did it?" Logan asked, some of his cool, disinterested attitude melting away as he focused intently on Max's words.

            "My first guess was that McElroy set us up," Max answered, "but within minutes I got a message on my pager from Cassandra.  When I got in touch with her, she said she saw several black-clad figures moving in our direction, but she'd been unable to warn us.  Thing is, she's assigned to the senator now, and nothing will make her break off from protecting him, at least until either one of them is dead, or she's formally reassigned.  She wanted to warn us, but she couldn't risk endangering her charge, no matter the cost.  She just had to hope we could take care of ourselves."

            "Anything else?" Logan asked as he stared blankly into space, the wheels of his mind appearing to work double-time to absorb everything that Max told him.

            "She said whoever those people were, they sure weren't ordinaries," Max added.  "They moved too quickly.  I don't know, Logan.  Either the Familiars actually figured out what we're up to, or I just got betrayed by some of my own people.  I honestly don't know which prospect frightens me more.  It seems like everything that happens to me has some kind of major importance, and one crisis keeps following closely on the heels of the one that preceded it.  It's just too much to take."

            "I'm sorry," Logan said again as his intense interest vanished once more, his sudden, unemotional tone prompting Max to feel as if he was anything but sorry.

            "This is all crazy," Max complained.  "I was a delivery girl, Logan.  I never asked to fight some kind of uber-man cult.  I never asked to be the visionary leader of my people.  And I never, ever asked for people to sacrifice themselves to save me.  I don't understand any of this."

            "I'm sorry," Logan said once more, causing Max to wonder if he was capable of saying anything else.

            "You gonna need anything?" Syl asked Logan as she walked out of his office and into the living room, her eyes scanning Max thoroughly, still appearing as if she was searching for a trace of a threat that she was convinced was there.

            "No, I'll be fine," Logan assured her.  Once she had gone into the spare bedroom, Logan turned back to Max.  "She's very protective," he commented.

            "That's the whole idea," Max responded glumly.

            "And as much as I appreciate the gesture, I really don't need her," Logan assured Max.  "I'm perfectly safe here."

            "You know, that would have been far less believable two weeks ago, before you covered up all the bullet holes," she countered.  "But just because you put up new drywall doesn't mean I'm gonna forget what happened once already."

            "I mean it," Logan assured her.  "I don't need a bodyguard."

            "I don't remember asking," Max said.  "I have enough on my plate right now, Logan.  I can't afford to spend my time worrying about whether or not you're safe."

            "I never asked you to," Logan countered coldly.

            "What?"  Max was now certain that Logan's behavior was definitely wrong somehow.  _He's conversational enough, but there's none of the warmth that I used to get from him.  It's almost like he thinks of me as…_  Her mind wandered as she desperately sought an answer to her own question.  As she found a suitable analogy, she visibly shuddered.  _He's treating me like an ex-girlfriend,_ she concluded.  She felt as though someone had plunged a knife in her gut as she looked at Logan, finally seeing clearly in his eyes that he had dispatched a great deal of the affection that had been there only weeks earlier.

            "I don't need any watching over, Max," Logan assured her.

            "What's going on here?" Max asked.

            "What do you mean?" Logan asked innocently, though Max could see all too well that he knew exactly what she meant.

            "Don't play games," Max pressed.  "I'm not some stupid kid, Logan."

            "I don't have the vaguest idea what you're talking about."  Now he almost sounded condescending, and that was something Max was completely unwilling to tolerate.

            "Fine," Max spat.  "Lie to me if that's what you want."

            "Lie to you?" Logan asked, placing his beer on the coffee table as he stood up, forcing Max to conclude that he was seeking some kind of psychological advantage by looking down on her.  She swore it wouldn't work.  "Oh, that's rich," he said, his voice steadily rising as he spoke.  "This coming from the girl that told me she was getting together with another guy just so that she wouldn't have to deal with the burden of telling me the truth."

            "The truth?" Max asked.  "The truth about what?"  Suddenly she felt the urge to busy her mind with something other than shouting, so she chugged half of her beer as Logan continued to rip into her.

            "The truth about how you're scared," Logan told her, his eyes boring into hers as she looked at him down the length of her beer bottle.

            "I'm not scared of anything," Max suddenly retorted, slamming her bottle down on the wooden table, almost knocking Logan's adjacent bottle down with the force of her movement as she rose to come face to face with her host.

            "Really?" Logan asked.  "Then why did you break up with me?"

            "We weren't ever together," Max countered.  "I can't break up with someone that I'm not together with."

            "Oh, so that's the story now?" Logan asked as he turned his back on her, taking a few angry strides before whirling around to face her again.  "So we were never together?  Is that why you and I worked so hard to find a cure for the virus?  Is that why you felt a need to tell me you were with Alec so that I would get some false sense of closure?  You may be a genius and one hell of a soldier, Max, but it's obvious you spent your formative years in a military barracks, because you really have a hell of a lot to learn about relationships."

            "Oh, that's nice," Max said.  "I guess Eyes Only has spoken, huh?  Yeah, you're real good with relationships too, Logan.  You spend your time here alone in your ivory tower, your only interpersonal contact coming as a pair of eyes on a television screen.  And you _dare_ give me advice on relationships."

            "At least I've _had_ relationships," he retorted, his voice rising steadily until he was on the verge of shouting.  "So yeah, I've been married and it didn't work out.  At least I had the guts to take the chance on opening up to someone enough to let them hurt me.  And despite the pain, I'd do it again.  I tried with you, too, but you wouldn't let me."

            "Is that what you're doing?" Max asked incredulously.  "You tryin' to open up to me?  Is this how you expect to get me to want to be with you?"

            "No," Logan answered evenly, his voice suddenly little more than a whisper.  "I'm not trying anymore, Max.  The time for that is past.  You know that as well as I do.  We're done."

            Max gasped as Logan spoke, completely surprised that he would say such a thing.  _But this is what you wanted all along, isn't it?_ she asked herself.  _Didn't you try to provoke this very reaction when you told him you were with Alec?  Isn't this as easy as you wanted it to be?_  Max slumped back down onto the couch while Logan continued to hover over her, each of them glaring at the other, neither one backing down in their staring match.  It seemed to Max that time stood still, that she and Logan were held transfixed in that one moment for an eternity.  Finally he moved, grabbing his beer and draining it in only a few short gulps.  Then he looked at the bottle, slightly puzzled, and Max's stomach bottomed out worse than it ever had before.  _He drank from the wrong bottle!_

            She realized that her bottle was the one that was almost empty, while his had been almost full.  That's why he was surprised to finish it so quickly.

            "Oh my God, Logan," Max yelled.  "We have to get you to a hospital."  No sooner had she said the words than Syl was racing into the room, appraising the situation as her left hand went around her back, gripping the Walther PPK that Max knew she concealed there.

            "It's okay, Syl," Logan said with a suddenly warm, strangely amused smile.  "Go on back to your room."  Syl hesitated for a few moments, looking over the two for a bit, but finally complied with Logan's instructions.

            "What?!" Max asked once Syl had gone, moving closer to Logan so that she could catch him when he finally, predictably, fell to the floor.  "It's not all right, Logan.  We have to get you to a doctor."  _But he still hasn't fallen,_ Max noticed, her mind trying to count off the seconds as she waited for the inevitable reaction Logan always had to her virus.

            "You should probably leave, Max," Logan said.  "We've both said a lot of things we'll probably regret once we have time to reflect on it all."

            "What's going on here?" Max asked, still gazing expectantly at her friend, unable to process that he had not yet succumbed to the virus.

            "I'm cured," Logan said.  "Sorta thought you'd have figured that out by now."

            "You're cured?" Max asked.  "How?  When?"  She was instantly assaulted by what felt like every negative emotion it was possible for a human to feel, and she wondered whether she was going to throw up, or pass out, or scream.

            "Lydecker gave me the information on a vaccine right before your assault on Megiddo," Logan said, drawing Max's attention away from her own inner turmoil and back to the conversation at hand.  "It's based on the same technology Sandeman used to make you immune to the Familiars' pathogen for The Coming; it helped my body build up its own immunity to the virus.  Lydecker told me it was something he wanted to give us to make up for some of the things he'd done."

            "And you didn't tell me," Max muttered.  "How could you keep that from me?"

            "Deck asked me to, so that you wouldn't be thinking about that while you had a job to do," Logan answered.

            "I don't mean then," Max said.  "I mean now.  You've had this for a month, and you never told me?"

            "You still have a job to do," Logan pointed out.  "You're in the middle of something very important, Max.  And so am I.  This isn't the time to try to force a relationship that's had plenty of opportunities in the past, only to fail every time."

            "You made that decision for both of us?" Max asked furiously.  "What gave you the right?"

            "The same thing that gave you the right to end our relationship not too long ago, despite the fact that I wasn't done trying," Logan said, his voice holding a sharp, malicious edge.  Max couldn't help but wonder whether Logan actually enjoyed hurting her.  And the worst part was that she couldn't actually blame him – she thought he had the right to a little payback for all that she had put him through.  "You're the one that introduced the idea of one of us unilaterally calling off any further attempts to make this whole thing work, remember?"

            "That's not fair," Max said, stifling a sob that appeared quite unexpectedly.  She'd never known Logan to be so indifferent, so… cruel.  _And the worst part is that he's right,_ she realized.  _He really isn't doing anything that I haven't done before, myself._

            "Life isn't fair, Max," Logan said.  "If life were fair, you would never have been held in a secret government program for half your life.  If life were fair, your people wouldn't be under siege right now in Terminal City."

            "And if life were fair, we could have been happy," Max muttered.

            "Yeah, I think we could have been," Logan agreed.  "But life _isn't_ fair."

            "Okay," Max replied, wiping away a stray tear that welled up in the corner of her eye.  "If this is how you want it."

            "I didn't say that," Logan told her.  "This is just the way it has to be, given the situation."

            "So you're going to tease me with hope for the future?" Max asked, trying to finish the conversation and leave with a shred of dignity before she started crying uncontrollably.

            "Let's just say that we're not saying 'goodbye,' " Logan countered.  "It's just 'until later.'  We both have huge responsibilities, Max.  Neither one of us could turn our back on that, even if we wanted to."

            "Then until later," Max echoed.  "Until the mess we've made of our lives is cleaned up a little."

            "Yeah," Logan agreed.  "We've waited this long already, right?  What's a little while longer?"

            "Right," Max mumbled, turning toward the door.  She left quickly, bolting down the hall and stumbling into the stairway as she raced out of sight of any curious eyes that might have been watching.  Her sobs grew stronger once she was alone, and she began to think over everything that had happened.

            _I can't believe he didn't tell me,_ she cursed silently, consciously avoiding thinking about any of her own deceptions over the past few months.  She sat down and thought things through, and realized that she felt far worse after her visit to Logan's than she had when she arrived.  _And now there's no one else for me to go to,_ she thought miserably.  _There's no one else that understands me like Logan does, no one else that I can just be myself around._  Then, unexpectedly, her heart skipped a beat as she thought of one other person that might be able to relate to everything she was going through.

            Without another thought, Max raced down the stairs and burst out onto the street below, hopping onto her bike and tearing out across the city.  She decided to take the long way home, to let the wind blow through her hair as she enjoyed a few brief hours of freedom away from the siege.  _But I won't take too long,_ she decided.  _I have responsibilities I can't afford to avoid.  And besides, there's someone I have to talk to_.

To be continued…………………………… 


	9. Personal Sacrifices, Part 1

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** Because of a few bad words in this chapter, I would rate it R.  However, since the presence of these words shouldn't really affect the overall rating, in my oh-so-humble opinion, I'm keeping the story as PG-13.  Just wanted to warn anyone that might be overly sensitive.

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IX – Personal Sacrifices, Part 1 

            "… number being gunned down.  How much more will it take to convince people to stop letting themselves be controlled by fear?  How much more will it take to allow the transgenics the peaceful existence they crave?"  With a flick of his wrist, Logan pushed the button to end the cable hack and leaned back in his chair.  He reflected on his report and was forced to conclude that he didn't like it.  _It just seemed to lack some kind of continuity,_ he decided.  _It must be because my mind is somewhere else._

            He stood up quickly, reveling at the fact that his legs were his to command.  He doubted he would ever grow tired of the simple act of standing up.  It was something he had taken for granted for most of his life, but after a year of being strapped into a wheelchair, he'd learned to appreciate some of the simpler things in life.  He strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge, reaching in just long enough to grab a beer as he walked back out into his living room.  He turned down the lights as he walked past the switch, keeping it bright enough to move through the room without tripping over one of the three pairs of sneakers that Syl had left lying across the floor, but dim enough to look out the window without too much glare.  He was only able to stand motionlessly for a brief moment before his restlessness had him pacing once more, padding like a caged tiger from one end of the apartment to the other.

            _I can't believe I actually went through with it,_ he marveled, surprised that he'd been able to convince Max that he had absolutely no interest in continuing a relationship with her.  He knew she had to be kept away – his identity as Kilroy would constantly be endangered if she kept coming around.  And there was no way he could allow that secret to get out.  At least not yet.

            Logan wondered why he felt so determined to keep his second alter ego from his closest friend.  He came to the same conclusion he always did – he wanted to protect her.  _Just like she wanted to keep me away so that I'd be safe from the virus, I want to keep her away so that she'll be safe from the exploits of Kilroy_, he concluded.  He reflected once more on Lydecker's belief that at least some of the transgenics would be forced to employ their military training.  For one thing, White and his cronies had to be opposed.  Many transgenics were more than willing to take up this cause, and the results of their efforts promised to be extremely violent and dangerously high profile.  Despite Eyes Only's efforts to keep portraying all transgenics as being as passive as the ones holed up in Terminal City, word would eventually leak that there were many others currently embroiled in a covert war.  _In fact, the plan demands that word get out about that,_ Logan reminded himself.  One day, the public would need to know the truth about the cult, and as much as Logan hated to think about it, he knew that that day was rapidly approaching.

            The real issue was how this war was presented to the ordinaries.  _I need to make it clear as day that the transgenics are fighting to protect not only themselves, but every human being on Earth,_ Logan thought.  _They have to be portrayed as heroes… that should be enough to convince the majority of people that their destructive war was worthwhile.  And for the rest of the people…_  Logan knew that it had to be an ordinary that led the more militant faction of the transgenics, that an ordinary needed to take the heat for what Kilroy's soldiers were doing out in the field.  As powerful as Manticore's genetically engineered killing machines could be, the public needed to see that the transgenics were also more than willing to follow the commands of a normal human.  _Someone is going to have to take the fall for this, and the masses will seek out a leader to blame.  It can't be Max.  It has to be me._

            Suddenly realizing that at some point he had limited his pacing to the kitchen, Logan glared at his surroundings, finding himself irritated by virtually everything he set his eyes on as he tried to give himself some way to vent his growing frustration.  The teapot reminded him of Max's late-night visits for tea, the refrigerator brought back images of the hard-to-come-by perishables he'd always gone out of his way to procure for her, and the oven made him think of all the meals he'd spent so much time cooking for her.  Every memory of Max got him more worked up, and the routine was starting to wear on him.

            _So I'll be the one to take the blame,_ he acknowledged for the umpteenth time, willing his mind to focus on the difficult situation at hand rather than the good times of the past.  _And where exactly does that leave me with Max?_  He recoiled at the thought, wondering why he had even pondered the question.  _This is neither the time nor the place,_ he reprimanded himself.  Despite his best efforts, though, he found himself pondering the question.  As he'd told Max, he wasn't doing anything she hadn't already done.  He made a unilateral decision to end the relationship, no matter how much it had hurt him to do so.  _But then again, when she cut of the relationship it was because of a virus that we hoped could be cured.  There was always the unspoken implication that if the virus was out of the way, we would very likely give us another try.  Did I really hold out the same kind of hope?_

            He reflected on the conversation – _no, the argument,_ he corrected himself – focusing not only on what he said, but how he said it.  Logan was surprised at how easy it had been to lash out at Max, to say just the right words to cut into her.  He could hardly believe he had been so callus.

            The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he had been hurt by the things she'd done.  He had seemed to take it all in stride, playing the part of the coolly aloof friend that was equally comfortable with the prospects of a romantic relationship, a close friendship, or a purely professional partnership.  _But that image was so far from the truth, _he admitted silently.  He had tried so hard, for so long, only to have Max turn away at every opportunity.  _I was willing to risk my **life**,_ he thought angrily, _and she couldn't even be bothered to tell me the truth.  Instead she goes and tells me she's getting together with Alec, just because that would supposedly be easier for me to take!_  He sighed heavily, suppressing the urge to shout out his anger.  _What a bitch!_

            He took a deep breath and silently counted to ten, trying to calm himself.  The attempt failed miserably.  _I did so much for her… I helped her smuggle transgenics out of the country, I helped cover up the existence of her kind, I hacked into Chinese spy satellites, I blew thousands of dollars on her cause, I got my home shot up when I joined her struggle against the Familiars…  _His anger mounted as he continued to add seemingly infinite items to the laundry list of favors he had done for her.  Then he stopped himself suddenly.  _Don't be so stupid, Logan,_ he told himself.  _It's not like you were the only one that gave.  After all, she did lots of 'missions' to help out in your work as Eyes Only._  _But then again, that was done on a quid pro quo basis, with the understanding that I would help her find her fellow escapee siblings._  He thought for another moment and seized on something else.  _She broke into a nuclear power plant and stole the chip I needed for my prosthetic legs,_ he reminded himself.  _But then again, she thought that was an Eyes Only mission, and not a personal favor, so I probably shouldn't give her much credit for that._

            As he continued thinking the relationship through, Logan became increasingly convinced that he had given far more than Max ever had.  _And all I wanted in return was her affection and a bit of honesty.  Was that so fucking much to ask?_  Once more, Logan found himself enraged at how easily Max had just seemed to give up.  A failed attempt to take a quick sip of his beer alerted him to the fact that the bottle was empty, and Logan just set it down on the counter and reached into the refrigerator for a second bottle.  His internal rant prevented him from ever noticing how easily he chugged the entire drink, draining it in a matter of seconds.

            _Chill out, Logan,_ he told himself as he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin in the corner and pulled out a third beer.  _Try to look at things from her point of view.  After all, how would you feel if you were the one with the virus, and you ended up infecting her and killing her?  Would you be able to live with yourself?_  He pondered the question for several moments before deciding on an answer.  _Fine, I might have done the same thing if I had been in her shoes, but I **wouldn't** have lied about finding someone else just to chase Max away._  Try as he did to avoid the issue, he kept coming back to that one point – Max had lied.  _Just like you did tonight,_ he reminded himself.  He stopped short, and then analyzed that conclusion a little more closely.  _Actually, I **never** lied,_ he argued silently.  _I told her we both had responsibilities that prevented us from being together, and that's the God's-honest truth.  Sure, I didn't tell her that I'm Kilroy, but I didn't deny it, either.  She has a job now, and she can't afford to get involved with anyone.  I have a job to do, too, and I can't afford to let her get tangled up in my little web.  She'd never be able to get out of that situation alive._

            Logan nodded to himself as he realized that he finally hit on what the whole argument was really about.  He couldn't deny that he had a lot of resentment toward Max because of the way she had treated him, but that had only served to make it easier to send her away, to be cold to her.  In the end, his current anger boiled down to the fact that Max had dared lie to him.  _And it wasn't even a good lie,_ Logan noted.  _I mean, how stupid does she think I am that I would believe something that asinine?  Her and Alec?  Sure… and monkeys might fly out of my ass!_

            With only a casual glance in the direction of the recycling bin, Logan tossed the third bottle away to join the second as he contemplated having a fourth beer.  The memory of his ex-wife assaulted him, though, and he shuddered at the thought of ever getting comfortable indulging in alcohol.  He instead walked out into the living room, noticing with relief that he was starting to feel a slight bit lightheaded.  _It's about time the damn alcohol kicked in._

            Walking less carefully than the last time he had gone through the room, he stumbled over a pair of Nikes that Syl had left in front of the television.  A few epithets muttered under his breath allowed him to release his frustration over his uninvited guest, and he was once again free to dwell on his questions concerning Max.

            _I can't just let her go,_ he admitted to himself, _but I likewise can't let her stay.  She has to be kept completely clear of what I'm doing.  So, to paraphrase Hamlet, I'm cruel only to be kind.  I just hope she's able to forgive me for all this when it's finally over._

To be continued…………………………… 


	10. Personal Sacrifices, Part 2

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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X – Personal Sacrifices, Part 2 

            _How can I possibly do all of this alone?_ Max wondered as she sped along the near-abandoned, rain-slicked streets of Seattle.  _But you're not alone,_ she reminded herself.  _You still have Joshua.  And Alec._

            "No!" Max growled as she downshifted quickly and gave the engine more gas, immediately increasing her speed by 15 mph.  "Don't think about that yet," she scolded herself.  Every time her thoughts drifted to Alec, she became confused.  There were simply too many contradictory feelings.  _On the one hand, I want to strangle him,_ she thought.  _Or actually, sometimes I want to strangle him with both hands,_ she added with a wicked grin.  _But then again, he can also be so…  I don't know._

            "But Logan," she muttered, changing gears again as she continued to lay on the speed.  She wanted so much to simply outrun her pain and frustration, but the faster she went, the more hyped up she became.

            _I can't believe he did that,_ she thought for the umpteenth time since leaving her friend's apartment.  _I can't believe him.  He goes and gets a vaccine and doesn't tell me, then he tells me we're through, and then has the gall to say that there might be hope for us in the future.  Like I believe a word of it.  He's totally through with me.  I just know it._

            That unexpected conclusion caused Max to slam on the brakes, locking the back tire as she screeched to a halt in the middle of an intersection.  "That rat fuck son of a bitch!" she spat angrily, laying down a line of rubber as she sped off once again.  _I can't believe he treated me like that.  After everything I did for him…_

            Despite her efforts to avoid thinking about Logan – or anything or anyone else, for that matter – she kept coming back to the very thing that was causing her to race along in a death-defying circuit of the city.  _After everything I did for him, he just throws me away as soon as we have a chance to make it work._

            Max didn't even notice the police cruiser that pulled out of an alley and started to pursue her.  It was left behind within seconds as Max blew through the checkpoint at the city limits, racing away into the sprawl that had once been a thriving example of American suburbia at its best.  _How many times did I risk my life for him?_ she asked herself.  _God only knows.  I went on his stupid Eyes Only missions.  I got shot at.  I jumped off buildings.  I came back to Seattle when he was on the verge of death, even though I knew it would almost certainly mean I'd be recaptured.  I even made the impossible decision to stay away from him, because I knew what it would mean if he ever got too close._  The bike increased speed again as 100 mph became a distant memory, and still Max couldn't outrun her pain and anger.  _Goddamn it, I even went to a fancy-shmancy Cale family event!  That was like enduring the seventh circle of Hell.  But did I complain?  Of course not!  I gave so much, and he never gave anything!_

_            Well, he hardly gave anything,_ she quickly amended as she remembered Logan's assistance during the attacks on the Manticore facilities in Seattle and Gillette.  _But it wasn't like he wasn't getting anything out of that, either.  Every time he helped me and Zack he got another chance to dig up some dirt on Manticore.  That's probably what he was really after – that would have been Pulitzer Prize winning stuff.  You know, I'll bet he **never **saw me as anything more than a great story._

            Max finally eased off the throttle and slowed down, allowing the bike to coast to a stop a mile later.  "I can't do this anymore," Max muttered, trying to face her inner demons head-on.  _I used to be so independent, so self-reliant.  Damn Logan for making me get used to having people there for me, even if they were just using me.  Now what do I do?_

            The realization that she had changed so much during her time in Seattle made her stomach lurch uncomfortably.  _I don't know if I'd be able to just pick up and leave anymore,_ she decided.  _Even if there wasn't the whole thing going on in Terminal City, I don't think I could just give up my friends and the home I've made for myself._  Her body shivered as she dwelt on her thoughts, on how she was no longer the free spirit she had been only a couple of short years earlier.  _I became so dependent on my friends – my surrogate family – that I don't know if I can just fend for myself anymore._

            _I miss the old me,_ she thought miserably.  She knew she was still far more emotionally detached than most, but she also couldn't help but admit that she had also sacrificed some of her meticulously constructed isolation in order to gain something she figured might be just as valuable.  _Friendship,_ she thought ruefully.  _Was it really worth it?  Are you happier now?_ she asked herself.  She was just about to tell herself she wasn't, when a voice in the back of her mind asked a new question.  _How exactly would you know if friendship's worth it?  It isn't really like you totally opened up._  That thought threw her completely off-balance.  After all, she had concluded time and again that she was remarkably well adjusted socially, especially when she considered everything she'd been through.  _I did the best I could,_ she protested.  _Have I actually become weak?_

            "No," she muttered, immediately jumping in surprise at the sound of her own voice.  "I'm **not** weak."  She couldn't imagine how she could possibly conclude that she had lost any of her resolve, any of her formerly boundless amount of inner strength, especially not after everything she had seen and done during the past couple of months.  _No one who was weak could have done everything I've done.  I'm going to reshape the world.  I'm going to make a place for the transgenics… for my people._  Max didn't even notice that for the first time in her life she had accepted her role as the transgenics' leader.  Instead, she saw only the race's finish line, rather than the miles of difficult terrain that lay between her and her goal.  _But I don't think I can do it all alone,_ she admitted, stuffing down all of her doubts and insecurities.  _Even if it's just someone to confide in…_

            She searched again for someone – anyone – she would be able to go to, to talk to, to lean on for support and assistance.  Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept coming back to the same place.

            _This is crazy_ she thought, desperately seeking an alternative.  Despite her best efforts, though, she couldn't avoid what she felt was inevitable.  _Him?  I don't even like him…  Or do I?_  Max took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and then turned to head back to Seattle.  She looked at her watch and began to hope she would be able to reach the city by dawn.  _It'll be tough to get past the guards if I show up in broad daylight,_ she knew.  _Then again, it still wouldn't be as hard as the conversation I have to have when I finally get home again._

To be continued…………………………… 


	11. Casualties of War

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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XI – Casualties of War 

            "What happened out there?" Zack asked softly as he leaned over his critically injured lieutenant, taking her left hand into his grasp in a vain attempt to comfort her.  He waited several seconds as the glassed-over look in Brin's eyes faded slightly and she turned her head slowly to face him.  A grimace distorted her expression as she fought to ignore the debilitating pain that Zack knew was likely making her wish she had died in the raid.

            "It was a setup," Brin mumbled.

            "Are you sure?" Zack asked.  He couldn't imagine how his forces could have taken such heavy looses unless they had been set up, but he still needed to be certain.  He needed proof.

            "I'm sure," Brin wheezed.  "Please… Zack… I can't do this now."

            "But Brin --"

            "You're gonna have to leave, sir," Randi said as she walked up to her commander.  The young X8 had a confident air about her – she knew she was in complete control in the infirmary.  Even Zack had no authority over her as far as medical treatment was concerned.

            "Not yet," Zack objected.

            "Follow me," Randi muttered.  She turned on her heel and began to walk out, and Zack found himself following her, despite his desire to stay behind.  Once they were out of the small treatment room that was presently home to three wounded X5's, Randi began to speak again.  "Before you even ask, sir – yes, she'll live."

            "You sure?" Zack responded weakly, part of him wondering how he could ever manage without Brin.  She was like his right arm – he would be incomplete without her, probably even unable to function in the position he had assumed.

            "Most of her weakness is due to blood loss," she told him.  "The wounds themselves weren't really that terrible… they just happened to be in bad places.  She was shot in the left arm, and what could have been a flesh wound became critical because the bullet severed the brachial artery.  She also took a gut shot that ruptured her spleen.  That'll need some time to regenerate, but she should be at full capacity again within a week and a half.  I'd expect her at your side again in about half that time."

            "Thanks," Zack said, surprised that he needed to lean against the wall to stay on his feet.  Fear and adrenaline had kept him going since his wounded soldiers had returned, straggling in after being on the run for hours.  Now that the worst case scenario seemed unlikely, he finally allowed his own fatigue to set in.  "What about the others?"

            "Of the sixteen that you told me went out, only two came back uninjured," Randi told him.  "They were each team's sniper, and they were far enough away to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.  I sent them to their quarters to rest, though I'd expect they're both awake and waiting for their debriefing."

            "Of course," Zack muttered, reminded that he also had some uninjured X5's to deal with, as well.

            "There were three KIA," Randi told him.  "Only two bodies were brought back, though."  Zack gasped when he heard the disturbing news that someone had been left behind.  Dead or alive, it should have made no difference – they didn't leave anyone behind.  It was one of their cardinal rules.  _Someone's gonna have to go back out there…_

            "Who are the dead?" Zack asked.

            "Stevie, Trish, and Osborne," Randi told him.  That news sent him reeling.  He was fortunate to have kept Brin, but Osborne was a great loss.  He was the most experienced man under his command, and had made a superb squad leader.  Zack knew he would never be able to replace such an asset.

            "And how're the rest?"

            "All but one should recover fully," Randi replied.  "Joel took a hollow-tip in mid-thigh.  The bullet almost blew the leg clean off.  As it was, the limb was almost completely severed, only hanging on by a few threads, and it was in the early stages of gangrene.  I had to amputate.  I'm sorry, sir."

            "Three dead and one lost for good," Zack muttered.

            "I wish I could have done more," Randi apologized.

            "I'm sure you did better than anyone else could have," Zack said.  While Randi was just a child, she had been part of what some of the Manticore higher-ups had labeled the Vocation Protocol.  Several X8's had been chosen from birth to be raised with the specific intent of fulfilling certain roles.  All of their instruction, all of their psychological training, the molding of their personalities – everything was done to make them the very best at whatever it was they were chosen to do.  Zack had two of these children in his ranks.  Randi was a doctor who specialized in trauma care, and her sibling, Harry, was one of the most gifted pilots that had ever lived.  They lacked the adaptability of several of the earlier generations, but in their chosen fields, they were veritable prodigies.

            "Sir," Cipher interrupted, walking up and joining his two comrades.

            "What is it?" Zack asked wearily.

            "He's here, sir."

            "Tell him I'll be with him shortly," Zack muttered.  He had already had to deal with far more than he'd expected to that night.  The last thing he wanted was to take this meeting.  Unfortunately, he knew, he really didn't have any choice in the matter.

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            "Hello, sir," Set said, punctuating his greeting with a salute as Zack walked into the room.

            "Hello," Zack said, returning Set's gesture as he crossed the small office and sat behind a small oak desk.  "Why are you here?"  Zack had no desire for small talk.  Several of his soldiers were hanging by a thread in the infirmary, and though he'd been assured they would be okay, he still felt as if he needed to be at their sides, just in case.

            "My commander has requested that I advise you of some intel we've put together," Set answered.  "We have a probable location for Theresa Caine, and we were wondering if you'd be able to do something about it."

            "Me?" Zack asked with surprise.  "You think I'm gonna start doing your dirty work, leaving my people's asses out in the wind while Kilroy plays wizard behind the curtain?"

            "Theresa Caine is a threat to all of us," Set replied immediately, his voice holding a hint of impatience and irritation.  Zack was surprised that Set was reacting so emotionally… or at least that he had the lack of control to show it.  _Then again, maybe it's all for show,_ he considered.  "We're asking for a favor," Set added.

            "Where is she?" Zack asked, deciding that he'd at least get some basic information before he made a decision one way or another.

            "As you already know, some intel we captured lists her location as Crab Island," Set responded.  "Through the process of elimination, we've concluded that the Familiars are likely referring to the island of Vieques."

            "Vieques?"

            "It's a small island due east of Puerto Rico.  The United States used it for naval artillery and bombing exercises for years, resulting in the island being almost completely uninhabited.  The real goal seems to have been the construction of an underground research facility.  It was built once the bombing chased people far enough away."

            "What kind of research facility?" Zack asked, the churning feeling in his stomach making him afraid of the answer.

            "That information is too classified to find out," Set told him, "but Kilroy suspects that it was used for biological weapons development.  The facility seems to have been closed down five years ago, and there are hints that it may have been sold to a corporation, though we're unable to verify the sale or the identity of the corporation."

            "Great," Zack groaned.  "And you want me to take my people in there?"

            "Kilroy is under the impression that you have possession of a submarine just a few miles from Panama City," Set said with a wry grin.

            "How did you know about that?"

            "My commander is fairly thorough."

            "Of course he is," Zack said, not bothering to hide his anger.  "It's you, isn't it?"

            "I'm sorry?"

            "You're Kilroy," Zack accused.

            "You know I'm not," Set replied simply, something in his eyes seeming blissfully amused at Zack's outburst.  That only served to enrage the renegade X5 even more.

            "And how am I supposed to know that?"

            "I'm a Slinger," Set answered.  "My training was highly specialized, focusing on a well-defined set of skills at the cost of any other instruction.  I'm an urban terrorist, not a battlefield commander.  I have neither the training nor the desire to be a leader."

            "And from what you say, you're sure as hell not suited to playing by someone else's rules," Zack countered, "but you certainly think I'm gonna buy that you're doing just that."

            "Believe what you want," Set said, his voice betraying a sudden loss of interest in the conversation.

            "Sure, play it cool, but I wonder what Logan would say if I let on about your little secret."

            "I don't follow," Set replied, though a suddenly malicious gleam in his eye let Zack know that he had hit his mark.

            "I know you're staying close to Logan so that you can pick up on all the information he uncovers through his Eyes Only contacts," Zack said.  "Then you pass it on to your master… or maybe you keep it for yourself, if I'm right about you being Kilroy."

            "I have a great deal of respect for you," Set growled, "but let me advise you that it would _not_ be in your best interests to have that conversation with Logan."

            "Fine," Zack said with a smile, confident that he had found out all that he had needed to.  His suspicions had been correct – Set's reported friendship with Logan Cale was simply a front so that he could uncover intelligence for his real master, Kilroy.  "So when does Kilroy want this strike to take place?" he asked, suddenly changing the topic.

            "A soon as possible," Set predictably replied.

            "Then let me tell you what it'll cost you," Zack said, already trying to figure out who would be able to accompany him, and how long he should give them to heal.  "I want Kilroy to keep a lid on any information that pertains to the Familiars."

            "Why?"

            "I'm fighting a war," Zack said simply.  "The last thing I need is a bunch of politicians and military ordinaries getting in my way.  Oh, and make sure Logan stays quiet, too."

            "I can't guarantee Logan's silence," Set said quickly.  "I'm not here representing him – I can only speak for Kilroy.  Logan is of the opinion that we've already stayed quiet for far too long.  Senator McElroy has promised us his support, but he needs information about the breeding cult.  You know how Eyes Only is – he hates secrets."

            "I don't care," Zack said with a shrug.  "One way or another, you make sure the truth stays under wraps, at least for now.  My people need more time to get squarely on the offensive."

            "Two weeks," Set grumbled.  "Kilroy will give you two weeks."

            "And Logan?"

            "I'll do what I can," Set assured him.  "I can't make any guarantees, of course, but I'll do what I can."

            "Then so will I," Zack responded.  "It's time we score a notable victory."

To be continued…………………………… 

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**Author's Endnote: I know what most of you are thinking – how could you have put this chapter here when all we wanted to know is what's happening with Max, Alec, and Logan?  The answer is simple – I've an evil, sadistic bastard that believes that waiting for what you want makes it that much better.  Not to fear, though.  Many of the characters' personal problems will be straightened out (at least for the time being) in the next chapter, which is pretty much devoted to that stuff.  Be prepared.  (And don't skip reading it just because you think you _think _you know what I've been planning.)**


	12. Time To Move On

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: At this point in the story, Alec's little side-mission in _Three Hail Mary's_ has finished.  (I'm betting no one noticed I finished that story, due to the fact that I changed the rating to R, and R-rated fics don't show up on the default page.)  It's not necessary to read that to understand what's happening in this chapter, but as I said earlier, the events therein _will_ be important later on.**

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XII – Time To Move On 

            "Where's Alec?" Max asked Mole curtly, not even bothering to exchange formalities.  He was obviously thrown off-balance by her unexpected appearance, and he needed several moments to regain his composure before daring to speak to the woman he was increasingly thinking of as 'The Chosen One.'   _I have to say all of this before I lose my nerve, she told herself once again.  She'd almost been floored by the shock of realizing the truth about her feelings for her fellow X5.  After all she had ever said to him, and all he had said to her, this development was fairly unexpected.  __I guess it's sorta logical with the way things have been lately, she admitted, __but who woulda thunk it?_

            "A-A-Alec is up in the t-tower… with Joshua," Mole finally stammered, disgusting Max with his inability to see her as she truly was – just a normal young woman.  She actually found herself missing the hardheaded brute he'd been when she first met him.  _He might have been a pain in the ass then, but at least his behavior was understandable.  There's just no excuse for seeing me as some kind of divine savior.  She nodded to him in response and continued right by, not bothering to say a word to Mole or any of the other transgenics standing near him, each of them bowing his head reverently as she passed._

            Her pace only quickened as she went deeper into the fortified center of the transgenic stronghold inside Terminal City.  _Okay, brace yourself, she thought, knowing she needed to keep herself completely under control.  She wouldn't dare betray her feelings until she had an inkling of how he felt… whether he thought the same about her.  __But of course, he has to, she reasoned.  __Why the hell else would he have stayed here all this time?  He could have left whenever he wanted…_

            "Max, hi," Alec said cheerfully as she walked out onto the tower's parapet, locking her eyes so thoroughly on Alec that she almost overlooked Joshua's presence.

            "Hey, Max," she heard Joshua mutter from beside her.  She turned to him, startled, and suddenly remembered that Mole had told her that Joshua was up there, too.  _Okay, Max… don't be **too** focused, she told herself._

            "Hey, Big Fella," she said with a smile.  "You mind giving me and Alec a few minutes?"

            "Of course not," Joshua said, immediately turning to leave.  Max noticed that he didn't seem at all offended, as he might have been not long before if she had so obviously left him out of the loop on something.  _But that was before I came back from the dead, she reminded herself.  __Even Joshua's sorta bought into that load of crap, though he seems to be trying not to…_

            "So what do you want?" Alec asked pleasantly once Joshua had gone.  He looked… happy.  That was the only word Max could think of to describe her fellow X5.  The dark cloud that usually hung right behind his eyes had cleared, making him seem genuinely relieved… pleased… refreshed.  Max could only wonder what he had been up to since the shoot-out at the paint warehouse; but she pushed her curiosity from her mind.  There was something else she had to discuss first.  _There'll be plenty of time for small talk later._

            "Please, just let me speak," Max said quickly, setting her face in what she knew was her most determined expression.  Even before she'd become the transgenic messiah, this was the look that would get any of her people to do whatever she told them.  She only hoped that it still had its same old effect on Alec.

            "Fine, go ahead and speak," Alec said with a magnanimous wave of his hand as he leaned back against the wall and grinned, his delighted mood really serving to throw Max off-balance.__

            "I've been thinking a lot lately," Max began, almost cursing as she realized she'd already deviated from the little speech she had mentally prepared for this moment.  _Six words and I've already screwed this up, she fumed silently._

            "It's a good thing that you've been thinking," Alec said sarcastically, adding a roguish wink for emphasis.  Max wondered whether he knew how much that kind of cocky attitude pissed her off.  "Given our present predicament, I sure as hell hope you've been thinking more than just about anyone else in the world."

            "Not now, Alec," Max growled.  "This is important, okay?  It's not something that's easy for me."

            "Fine," Alec shot back, raising his hands in mock surrender.  His mood didn't seem to change in the least, though.  He still seemed to be enjoying himself far too much for Max's taste.  "I won't interrupt again."

            "You'd better not," Max muttered.  "Like I was saying, I've been thinking a lot lately."  _Damn, I screwed it up again!_

            "I think we've already covered this much," Alec said with a mirthful grin that made Max want to walk away rather than speak.

            "Okay, that's it," Max said caustically.  "I came here to talk to you, but if you say another word, I'm gonna knock your teeth out.  Capisce?"

            "Sorry," Alec replied, something in his expression making Max think that his previous remark had been completely involuntarily, that some part of his brain demanded that he make wisecracks whether they were appropriate or not.

            "I've been thinking a lot about us," Max began again, noting once more that she had used the wrong words, but resolving this time at least to continue the thought to some kind of conclusion before either she or Alec could completely screw everything up.  "And I think that, umm…"  She suddenly found herself searching for the words, trying to figure out what to say.  _How do you tell someone that despite everything he's done to you, that he's somehow become the closest friend you've ever had? she asked herself.  __How do I convey how much trust I have in him?  How do I let him know how much he's come to mean to me, as someone I know I can rely on when so much is expected of me?  How does one apologize for the kinds of things that I've said and done to him?_

            "Uh, Max," Alec interrupted, the shroud coming down once more behind his eyes.  The joyous glow vanished as his feelings were suddenly concealed behind the mask he always wore so well.  _All I can tell for sure is that he isn't quite so happy anymore._

            "What?" Max asked, hoping that Alec would say something that would give her an opening to make the conversation easier.

            "I think I know what you're getting at," he told her, "and believe me, I'm flattered, but it's not gonna happen."

            "What?" Max asked, knowing she likely seemed completely dumbstruck, but not caring much at all.

            "I know you're hurting about everything that's been going on with Logan," he explained, "and I know you're under a lot of pressure.  I know how hard it is to be alone, especially at times like this.  It would probably be easier for you to have someone – I know that – but it can't be me."

            "What are you talking about?" Max asked nervously, some deep and muddled part of her brain screaming at her to do something, to say something, before she made a total ass out of herself.  _But what should I do?  What should I say?_

            "I'm no one's rebound relationship," Alec said evenly, his voice brooking no argument on that issue.  "Besides, Max, I just don't think about you like that.  You're like a sister to me.  And then there's the fact that I don't do relationships… not with _anyone.  I hope this doesn't cause a problem between us, but --"_

            "You jackass," Max interrupted, taking a step toward Alec and shoving him slightly, almost playfully.  "You think I was coming on to you?"

            "Well weren't you?" Alec asked, his eyes once more expressive, seeming to say, _"You don't have to deny it, Max.  I know you were coming on to me.  **Every** woman comes on to me sooner or later.  It's the misunderstood, brooding rebel thing that always reels them in."_

            "No, I _wasn't coming on to you," Max replied, noting with satisfaction the surprised, almost astonished look on her sibling's face.  "I was just trying to tell you that I think of you as the closest friend I have.  The closest friend I've __ever had, actually… though I have no idea how in hell it ever got that way.  Like you were saying you think of me as a sister, well – you're like the brother I never really had.  You understand me in ways no one else seems to.  It's like we're kindred spirits." The last sentence made her recoil immediately, fearing he might still think she was coming on to him.  "And that's not to say we're soul mates," she added.  "It's totally different."_

            "Oh," Alec said simply, though Max could tell the wheels were turning behind his eyes.

            "I just needed to tell you that," Max tried to explain.  "I mean, with everything that's happened between us, with some of the terrible things I've said and done…"

            "Like when you saved my life?" Alec asked.  "Lots of times?  Or when you kept me out of jail?  Or when you were always there to listen, even when just the sound of my voice turned your stomach, or when my face reminded you of the sibling you were forced to kill?"

            "Yeah, all that," Max muttered.

            "Call me silly, but I've always thought of you as a friend," Alec confided.  "No, forget that – that's not even a strong enough way of putting it.  I've always thought of you as family.  It's the one thing all of us at Manticore lacked, it's probably the one thing we all needed, too.  Family.  And as strange as it sounds, I know that even though deep down you might hate me, and that you probably wouldn't shed a tear if I disappeared tomorrow, I always knew you were my friend, the sister I never had."  He paused for a moment, as if he was pondering his words, and then continued.  "That really doesn't make much sense, does it?"

            "Not when you say it all like that," Max admitted.  "But thank you."  She wanted to walk away; she wanted to maintain the walls that she had buttressed so strongly around her heart for so many years, but instead she stopped, deciding to talk to the man she had finally admitted meant so much to her.  "I was just over at Logan's," she told him.

            "And how is he?"  Alec's expression was once again different than normal.  His defenses were lowered again, and he seemed to be opening himself to his newfound friend more than he had ever opened up to anyone before.

            "Logan's cured," Max said.

            "Cured?" Alec asked.  "What do you mean?"

            "He got his hands on a vaccine for the virus that Manticore gave me, the virus that's been keeping us apart."

            "No it hasn't," Alec said sadly, turning away from Max as he said the words.

            "What do you mean?"

            "You know what I mean," Alec responded with a heart-wrenching tinge of sympathy and commiseration in his voice.  Max thought back on what she knew of Alec, and she realized that he understood all too well what it felt like to be in a star-crossed relationship.  "You and Logan are two amazing people, but maybe it wasn't meant to be.  He's been around the block a lot more than either of us have, Max.  He knew what was up, and I guess he did what he knew he had to do."

            "You knew he had a cure?" Max asked suspiciously.

            "No," Alec said quickly.  "It just doesn't surprise me that he had one and never told you.  You have responsibilities now… and so does he.  He's all business lately, Max.  He's far more right now than just Logan Cale, the wonderfully compassionate and idealistic man you met not too long ago.  He's in the middle of a crusade, he's fighting to save you and the rest of us.  I can't imagine him opening up enough to deal with personal sentiment right now.  Haven't you noticed?"

            "Yeah, I have."  The realization started to choke Max up.  _But what is it that really hurts? she asked herself, trying to leave behind the rage and pain that had controlled her thoughts when she was on her bike outside of Seattle.  Now she tried to be far more analytical.  __Is it that Logan apparently decided not to be with you?  Or is it that he seems to have already moved on?  How much of your pain is ego, Max?  She wasn't sure she could even answer that question._

            "I know you must hurt right now," Alec said evenly, "and that with everything you're facing right now this isn't a good time for you to be alone in the world.  Since it appears we're friends now, let me be the first to offer you a sympathetic ear if you need it."

            Max looked into Alec's eyes as she fought back her tears.  For months she'd been imagining the moment that she and Logan came to an end, and never had she thought that she would be looking into Alec's eyes when that realization of finality struck her.  She took a step forward and held him closely, burrowing her face in his shoulder as her body shook with a half-sob.  Alec stood silently, not saying a word, knowing that for the time being Max didn't need to talk.  She only needed to hurt.

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            "We need to talk," Syl said softly as she walked into Logan's room, waking him out of a sound sleep.  He fought to open his eyes enough to look at his clock – 4:14 A.M.

            "What?" he asked groggily, trying to process what Syl had said.  He thought she had said that they needed to talk, but that made no sense.  He had been asleep… this was obviously not the best time for a conversation.

            "We need to talk," Syl repeated as she switched on the light.  A burst of pain erupted in Logan's eyes as the light assaulted his vision, causing him to dive under his pillow for solace from the glare.

            "Go away," he told Syl, though he was well aware that she probably was completely unable to hear him through the pillow that was muffling his voice.

            "Logan, please," she said.

            "You keep telling me to get sleep," he reminded her as he carefully moved the pillow away from over his mouth so that he could speak, while still keeping it firmly in place over his eyes.  "I finally get some quality shuteye, and you come in and wake me up so we can talk.  Where's the sense in this?"

            "We need to talk about Max," Syl said.  Logan groaned in response.  _I don't believe this…_

            "What goes on between Max and me is none of your business," he muttered.  "Now please leave.  And turn out the light when you go."

            "I know what you've been doing," Syl said evenly, causing Logan's heart to skip a beat.  _What does she mean?_ he wondered.  _Does she mean what I'm doing with Max, or is she talking about the things I've been up to behind Max's back?_  "I know you're Kilroy," Syl added, answering Logan's question instantly.

            Logan pulled the pillow away from his face, squinting in the bright light as he tried to focus his blurry vision on Syl.  Almost as an afterthought he realized that he hadn't put his glasses on.  With a quick, practiced flourish of his hand, he had lifted the glasses from his nightstand and put them on, immediately wishing he hadn't done so as Syl's challenging stare fell upon him.

            "You think I'm Kilroy?" Logan asked lamely, wondering why he was even bothering to deny the accusation.  He knew enough about Syl to know she never would have said anything unless she was already sure.  She was careful, meticulous, and extremely intuitive.

            "Don't bother playing all innocent," Syl replied, an amused grin forming on her lips.  "It's not like I'm here to arrest you or anything, Logan."

            "Then what _are_ you here for?"

            "We need to talk," Syl said once more.

            "About Max," Logan finished for her.

            "She doesn't know, does she?"

            "No," Logan muttered, now wondering how long that situation would last.  _One of Max's most trusted lieutenants now knows,_ he thought angrily, irritated that he hadn't been more careful.  _Gotta figure Max will find out soon enough… if she hasn't already._  "Did you tell her?"

            "No," Syl answered.  "And I don't see any reason why I should."

            "What?" Logan asked warily, forcing his body into a seated position as he looked Syl over, searching for any hint of deception.

            "I'm an X5, Logan," Syl reminded him, "I'm a little smarter than the average bear.  It's not like I don't realize why you haven't let Max know."

            "And why do you think I haven't told her?" he asked, wanting to make certain that Syl understood his motives.

            "Two reasons," she answered.  "First, she's playing the role of the idealistic, pacifist leader.  She can't be permitted to know the details about some of the violence that's occurring elsewhere.  You know, plausible deniability and all that stuff.  You seem to think that a more militant approach is necessary, and I agree… especially when it comes to the Familiars.  But just like leaders like Gandhi or Martin Luther King had to distance themselves from violence, so does Max.  It wouldn't look good if people found out her ex-boyfriend was leading a private army fighting a covert war against a millennia-old breeding cult."

            "I'm glad you can see where people might have a problem with that," Logan said sarcastically, relieved that the razor-sharp wit he felt he possessed was quickly returning from the blissful retreat of sleep.

            "What you're doing needs to be done, just as much as what Max is doing," Syl continued.  "We just have to make sure she never finds out."

            "We?" Logan asked skeptically, wondering at Syl's true motives.  _Is she just trying to get closer, so that she can find out even more before she reports back to Max?_ he wondered.

            "You think you can pull this off alone?" Syl asked.

            "I'm not alone," Logan corrected.

            "Sure, you have Set and all of his little soldiers, but you don't have anyone to cover for you with Max," Syl pointed out.  "I can do that, if you want."

            "Why?"

            "Because you're a good man," Syl responded, "and you're trying to help us.  I appreciate that."

            "I'm a good man?" Logan asked, wondering not only whether it was true, but how Syl had come to such a dubious conclusion.  With the things that had recently been done at his command, he could hardly imagine anyone would ever consider him good again.

            "I told you there were two reasons you've kept Max in the dark," Syl reminded Logan, "but I've only said one, so far.  The other is that you're protecting Max… personally, not professionally, you know?"

            "How do you figure?"

            "Like I said, what you're doing needs to be done," Syl answered.  "Zack is trying, but lately he's like a whole six pack of beer without the little plastic thingy holding the cans together, if you know what I mean."  Logan nodded his head even as he smiled at Syl's twisted use of simile.  "Since he's a tad bit crazy, we can't count on him waging war efficiently.  That leaves Max as the only other legitimate transgenic leader.  I know you don't want her to have to do the things you've been doing.  I know how it makes you feel, and by taking the reins as far as the war goes, you're sparing her the inevitable pain and guilt she would feel.  That makes you a good man."

            "If you say so," Logan responded, unconvinced that his display of self-sacrifice was in any way noble.

            "You must feel so lonely sometimes," Syl commented, taking a hesitant step toward Logan.

            "Not really," he replied.  "I've spent most of my life alone in one way or another.  You get used to it."

            "No one should have to get used to it," Syl countered.  "I know all about it, Logan, and I'll tell ya – it sucks being alone."

            "It's not like I have much of a choice," Logan said.  "It comes with the job."

            "The job?" Syl asked with an amused chuckle.  "Is that what this is?"

            "It's certainly not what I do for fun," Logan responded.

            "And I guess it's nice that you get to set your own hours."

            "Although it's certainly inconvenient when co-workers wake me up in the middle of the night," Logan said with a mock stern face.  He could tell that for the briefest of moments Syl wondered whether or not he was being serious, so he grinned slightly to clear up her confusion.  She smiled back.

            "Sorry 'bout that," she responded.  "I just decided I needed to get that all off my chest right now, like I couldn't wait another minute before I said all that stuff.  You know what I mean?"

            "Yes," Logan muttered.  "It started gnawing at you, and wouldn't quit.  I get that feeling a lot."

            "And what do you do to make it all better?"

            "I try not to think about it," Logan said.

            "It's that simple?"

            "Sometimes," he replied.  "The rest of the time…  Well, let's just say that I spend more time brooding than just about anyone this side of Alec."

            "I've noticed," she answered, taking another step toward him.  "It doesn't have to be like that, though."  She locked her gaze onto his and took yet another step forward, walking into his personal space as she looked down on him with a completely blank expression.

            "What are you doing?" Logan asked nervously as Syl cautiously sat down on the bed next to him, wrapping her slender, callused hands around his.  He could feel his heartbeat quicken, his blood start to boil.  It had been so long since a woman had gotten close to him – _especially with that look in her eyes,_ he thought – that he hardly knew what to say or do next.

            "What do you think I'm doing?" Syl asked, her voice barely a whisper.  She leaned in towards him, stopping her face just inches away from his, and Logan could feel her breath cross over his lips.  It sent chills through his body.

            _If she were Max, that would have been enough to kill me not so long ago,_ he knew.  He chased that thought away, though.  He was shocked to realize that he had no desire to think about Max.  _And it's not because I care any less about her,_ he concluded, surprising himself with that revelation.  _It's just that she has her own life, and I have mine.  It wouldn't be fair for either one of us to go there right now.  But Syl…_

            "Are you sure?" Logan asked, part of him refusing to believe that a woman as attractive as Syl could possibly be coming on to him.  Her lips danced just a hair's breadth from his, teasing him, thrilling him.

            "Of course I'm sure," Syl purred, her hands gently moving up Logan's arms and closing their tight, gentle grasp on his shoulders.  He inhaled her breath, amazed at how sweet it smelled.  _She smells like chocolate,_ he realized.  _And raspberries._  A new thought came into his mind, and he almost fell over at the inanity of such a thing occurring to him.  _She found the truffles I hid in the cabinet over the fridge._

            All of his other thoughts were suddenly cut off when Syl's lips gently touched his, finally breaking the atmosphere of intense anticipation with the thrill of satisfaction.  He could taste her breath now, as sweet as it had smelled; he could feel her body trembling slightly under his hands, which momentarily settled on her hips before slowly moving up along her back.  His fingertips passed over her soft cotton shirt lightly, with a touch that so many women before had told him sent chills up and down their spines.  He hoped he was having the same effect now.

            The kiss became deeper, stronger, as the tentative, uncertain intimacy gave way to a growing passion.  Logan's blood now pounded in his ears, his heart thundered in his chest.  His body ached and burned, and it felt incredibly refreshing.  _I feel so alive,_ he realized, wondering how long it had been since he had felt so energized.  _It's been so long… so long…_

            "Don't make me leave," Syl muttered as she drew back half an inch, just far enough so that she could speak.

            "You can stay," Logan assured her.  "I'll tell Max you can stay."

            "I don't mean stay here in the penthouse with you," she said breathlessly.  She kissed him again, ever so softly, and then drew back to continue.  "I mean stay here with you… here… in your room.  Tonight."  Logan almost fell over when he saw her expression.  She looked… hungry.  He had never seen any woman, even Max, ever gaze at him so longingly.

            "Syl…" Logan said, his voice trailing off as he tried to think of something to say.

            "Don't say anything," she told him, seeming to read his thoughts.  "I'm not asking for you to love me, Logan.  I'm not asking that you forget about your crusade, or your friends, or even Max.  I'm just asking you to let me stay.  We don't have to be alone anymore… either one of us.  Don't make it mean more than it has to.  Just let me be there for you, no strings attached."  She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer, kissing him again as her hands went down his back and then under his shirt.  She rubbed softly up to his neck, then scratched her short nails all the way back down his spine, sending shivers through his entire body as she uttered some kind of noise – half snarl and half purr – that sent a primal thrill right through him.

            "I couldn't tell you to leave if I wanted to," he admitted.

            "Then I'm all yours, Logan Cale," Syl muttered as she laid him back onto the soft down blanket and pillows.

To be continued…………………………… 


	13. The Price of Disobedience

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: I guess now I get to see how many readers come back to continue the story after that last chapter.  Not to fear, I'm working hard in a direction that one of **RagingConfusion**'s reviews seemed to suspect.**

Anyway, sorry it took so long to update again.  The thing is that since this has taken so long to write (the trilogy was supposed to have been finished by the arrival of what would have been the beginning of the third season), I've sorta forgotten some of the little things.  That meant that before I posted anything else (and thus risked greater story inconsistencies than I'd already stumbled into), I wanted to edit the whole thing from beginning to end.  That's finished, so here's the next chapter.  (And I know what you're thinking – if it's done, then why are you only posting Chapter 13?  The answer is that I want to get the third story underway before actually wrapping this one up, so that any minor changes necessary for a seamless transition can be done properly without having to post an edited version of a chapter or two.  Shouldn't take long, though.)  Oh, and all previous chapters have been reposted, all cleaned up with a few minor tweaks that would likely be unnoticeable to anyone who's been reading along from the beginning.

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XIII – The Price of Disobedience 

            "Special Agent Ames White," Lillith stated as her guest walked slowly into her office.  "You've been a very busy bee."

            "I suppose," White answered, immediately returning the challenging stare his superior directed at him.  His bravado failed to impress Lillith.

            "I've heard all about the ambush that you and some of your friends set for the transgenics outside Vancouver.  I was under the impression that I'd specifically instructed you to stay away from the transgenics," Lillith said venomously.  "In what way was I deficient in relaying that command?"

            "In no way."

            "So you understood my wishes?"

            "Yes."  Lillith remained quiet for several moments, pondering White's resolve.  In over twenty years, she had never had anyone admit to blatantly disobeying a direct order.  _They're made of solid steel,_ she mused silently.

            "I'm disappointed," Lillith admitted.  She knew she had very little alternative in the situation.  White's disobedience demanded punishment.  He would have to pay a rather serious penalty.  Still, she had to know…  "Why did you disobey me?"

            "Because your position, by necessity keeping you isolated from some of the experiences I've had, does not allow you to see the threat that the transgenics pose," White responded.  His tone made it clear he was simply expressing his beliefs, and not looking for forgiveness or desperately trying to make excuses.  "It is unsafe to proceed with _any_ plan until they've been removed from the scene.  They've already averted The Coming.  I know you have contingency plans, and I know you're confident that these plans will meet with success.  Still, I must remind you that you and your peers were equally confident about the success of The Coming.  You failed then, and I'm doing what I feel I need to do to prevent another failure in the future."

            "You disobeyed me," Lillith reminded him, finding it surprisingly difficult to restrain herself from attacking him for his presumption.  She had thought she had enough control to overlook such an attitude.  "Do you think your intent should mitigate your crime?  Or your punishment?"

            "You're the one who asked me why I did it," White reminded her.  "I didn't come here to make excuses."

            "Fine," Lillith replied.  "There are some in my position that would condemn you to death," Lillith muttered, knowing that her guest would hear her no matter how low she kept her voice.  "I, however, must reluctantly admit that there may be some merit to your concerns.  Therefore, I will decline to have you killed."

            "I understand," White replied, Lillith noting that he didn't thank her for her generosity.  _Damn, he's arrogant._

            "Do not think for a moment, though, that my current clemency is indicative of any future treatment," Lillith warned.  "You are given this one reprieve, Agent White.  Your concerns will be addressed.  I will no longer simply assume that the transgenics will go away, or that we can be guaranteed of outsmarting them."

            "That's all I've been asking for," White replied.

            "While I refine our strategy, you will go to Seattle," Lillith commanded.  "It may be necessary to make use of your experience in the near future."  She saw White's eyes light up at her words, and she knew that he savored the thought of being able to have another chance at wiping out the transgenics he hated so much.

            "And when I get to Seattle?"

            "Arrangements have been made for you to lay low in a safe house," Lillith explained.  "You _will_ lay low, Agent White.  If you try any of your loose cannon antics again, you will not find me as forgiving the next time you come before me.  We won't be making our move until the siege has been lifted, at the earliest."

            "I understand."  White looked incredibly pleased with himself.

            "That's all, Agent White," Lillith said.  "Leave me.  Go to Seattle and prepare yourself.  I'm certain you will be hard-pressed once you're called upon."

            "Thank you," White finished as he turned on his heel and left the office.  He wasn't out the door for more than three seconds before Lillith had the phone in her hand, dialing a number that one of her subordinates had provided to her.

            "Hello?" a raspy voice answered on the other end, sounding distinctly surprised.  _And of course he's surprised,_ Lillith decided.  _They probably thought there wasn't an intact phone line anywhere in the area._

            "Put Max on the phone," Lillith commanded.

            "Who is this?"

            "Put Max on the phone," Lillith repeated, her tone clearly conveying her impatience and feeling of superiority.

            "Hold on."  Several minutes of silence followed, and finally a female voice spoke on the other end.

            "Who is this?"

            "Is this Max?" Lillith asked.

            "Yeah."

            "And how do I know for sure?"

            "Gee, maybe if you'd get off the phone and come the hell down here, I could show you my pretty little barcode," the woman answered, leaving no doubt in Lillith's mind that she had reached the person she wanted to.

            "Charming," Lillith purred.  "Listen, Max, I have some information about Special Agent Ames White."  Lillith remained quiet after baiting the hook.

            "I'm listening."

            "Your old friend is going to return to Seattle," Lillith said.  "The Familiars are planning on gathering a force to hit you all when the siege finally lifts."

            "Who is this?" Max asked suspiciously.

            "Come now," Lillith replied smoothly, "I know you know about Sandeman and his little revolution.  My people got most of us, that's true, but a few of us slipped through the cracks."

            "By 'us' you mean the resistance?" Max asked.  "You're one of them?  You're helping transgenics now?"

            "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Lillith said, a devilish smile spreading across her lips.  She knew that had been a favorite cliché of Colonel Lydecker.  Just saying it would likely either get Max to hang up, or else cause her to buy into whatever she was told.  And Lillith didn't hear the connection cut off.  "Are you still there?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

            "Yeah," Max confirmed.

            "The Familiars won't make another move against you as long as the National Guard and the media are there to witness anything," Lillith added.  "But they'll eliminate you as soon as they can."

            "Why?"

            "Because they're already enacting their contingency plans for the failure of The Coming," Lillith said.  "They've been stopped by you and your friends once, already.  They're not taking any chances this time."

            "I understand."

            "White is arriving at the airport Hilton tomorrow morning, after eleven," Lillith said.  "My people have bought up the entire north wing on the seventh floor, and they use it as a safe house.  I have no idea what room he'll be in, but he'll definitely be there somewhere."

            "And what do you want me to do about it?" Max asked.

            "Anything you can.  There are only a handful of us left.  We can't risk getting exposed, while you --"

            "-- are expendable," Max finished for her.

            "That's not what I meant to say."

            "I understand completely."

            "He's supposedly going to assemble a team once he gets settled in," Lillith continued.  "You have to take care of him before that happens."

            "They'll just send someone else to take his place," Max muttered.  "It doesn't make any sense to risk resources on an expendable target.  Besides, my people _are_ still under siege.  It's not like we can just run over to the Hilton for brunch and a hit."

            "I know you could get out if you want to," Lillith said confidently.  "Besides, White is the only one of them that really knows what your people are capable of.  With him gone you'd be more of an enigma to your enemies."

            "I'll see what I can do," Max relented, immediately hanging up the phone.

            _Of course you will,_ Lillith thought gleefully.  _You couldn't possibly pass up a chance to eliminate your nemesis._  Lillith thought over the plan over and over, thrilled with the simplicity of it all.  She had two problems – the transgenics, and Ames White.  The transgenics were standing in her people's way and seemed completely paranoid of the next Familiar move against them.  Ames White, on the other hand, was all too willing to give them exactly what they expected, and on a timetable that did not suit Lillith one bit.

            _I'll give them Ames White,_ she decided.  _Once he's dead, the most recognizable member of my people will be eliminated.  He'll be replaced with someone new, someone they won't see coming so easily.  And more importantly, with White gone, the transgenics will relax.  They'll think they won some kind of victory, while all the while they'll simply have taken care of a dirty little chore I would otherwise have had to take care of, myself.  After all, he **did** defy me.  Such an insult cannot go unanswered._

_            Just get comfortable, Max,_ Lillith thought happily.  _Get comfortable, and lower your guard.  Then, when you least expect it, everything you hold dear will be destroyed.___

To be continued…………………………… 


	14. A Means To An End

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: Amazing how much the reviews dropped off once the Max/Alec/Logan thing was addressed.  Like people actually expect the situation to remain static by the time the series ends?**

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XIV – A Means to an End 

            "You got a few minutes?" Max asked as she walked up to Alec.  He nodded in reply, though he maintained his gaze on the surrounding city, seemingly searching for something.  "You okay?" Max decided to ask before she went into her own questions.

            "Huh?" Alec responded as he whirled on her.

            "You okay?" Max repeated.

            "Sure," Alec answered indifferently.  His voice let Max know that he definitely had something on his mind.  He had the same haunted tone he always had when he was thinking about the things he'd done, things Max knew Alec wished he could forget.  _So do I ask him what's eating at him?_ she wondered.  _Or do I just respect his privacy and pretend that I believe him?  This was never a problem before, when we were still just acquaintances thrown together by circumstance.  The whole 'friends' thing is throwing me off._  She pondered the matter for a moment, searching her limited experience with friends to find an answer to her quandary.  _Okay, what would I do if he were Cindy?  Or Logan?_

            "I know you're not fine," Max commented, deciding that were Alec any of her other friends, she'd probably call him on his lie.

            "Drop it, Max," he retorted.  "Please," he added immediately, an amendment that Max chalked up to Alec's continued attempts at fostering friendship.

            "You sure?" Max asked uneasily, deciding that Alec's personality might be different enough from her other friends' to warrant different treatment.  _Maybe I should really just leave him alone._

            "Yeah, I'm sure," Alec muttered.  "Though I appreciate your attempt at being there to listen.  I'm just not the type that needs to talk about it, you know?"

            "You know I do," Max replied with a thin smile.  _We're kindred spirits,_ she had told him, and it was times like this that had led her to that conclusion.  _He's not Logan, and he's not Cindy.  Treat him like **you'd** like to be treated, Max.  That means let him deal with his issues on his own.  He's a big boy; he can take care of himself._

            "What did you want, though?" Alec asked.

            "I can leave you alone if that's what you'd prefer," Max offered.  "I'll just come back later or something."

            "No, it's fine," Alec assured her, finally turning from the panorama of Seattle and settling his gaze on her.  "I'm just doing a bit of introspection.  It's waited for twenty years, Max; no harm in waiting another few minutes."

            "Okay," Max said with a smile.  "I just got a phone call."

            "I thought the phone lines were all knocked out."

            "There's apparently at least one that still works," Max told him.  "I think it was someone from the breeding cult, another one of Sandeman's crowd."

            "You mean that resistance, or whatever it was?"

            "Yeah," Max muttered, tossing the thought around in her head for a moment before she continued.  "The woman said she had information on White, that he's in town gathering a team together to take us out."

            "You believe her?"  Alec's tone made it clear that he wasn't buying a word of it, and Max couldn't blame him.  Still, however, she wondered.

            "If it's true, it could be the chance we've been waiting for."

            "To take him out?" Alec asked.  Max nodded, knowing her reaction surprised her sibling.  _He probably thought I've forgotten how to kick a little ass,_ she thought with amusement.  Then she remembered Annie, and her mirth evaporated.  _There's no excuse for what he did to her,_ she raged, remembering Joshua's pain over Annie's death.  Max had grown up feeling that death was a punishment that was rarely warranted, but killing a vulnerable blind woman just to piss off some transgenics and increase public paranoia was something that Max definitely thought qualified for the worst possible punishment.  "I don't know, Max, I've always been a big fan of the devil I know," Alec retorted, interrupting her train of thought.

            "Huh?"

            "It might be better to keep White in play if at all possible," Alec clarified.  "Don't get me wrong or anything – I'd love to kill him – but one of the biggest problems for us is identifying the Familiars.  We know White, we can see him coming.  It gives us a bit of an edge, or at least levels the playing field a bit."

            "He knows more about us than most of them," Max pointed out as she decided to play devil's advocate.  "Knowing your enemy is crucial to victory, and he knows us more than I'd like.  He's had access to all of Manticore's files and he's faced us several times in the field.  I can see what you're saying, but maybe despite the advantage of being able to identify him, we'd be better off eliminating him."

            "And you're not just saying that because he's a son of a bitch?" Alec asked with the hint of a mischievous smile.

            "No," Max assured him.  "Well, not completely.  God knows he's done enough to deserve death – and not that I'm saying that's necessarily the way we should go – but I'm thinking about this as a total strategic decision."  She saw a look of surprise in Alec's eyes; she knew what he was thinking.  _He never thought I'd be the type to plan to kill someone,_ she decided.  _And just a month ago, I'd be right there with him; I never would have thought myself capable of this.  But I'm a leader.  I have responsibilities.  I hate it, and I'll never forgive myself, but someone in my position can't afford to have morals.  They don't apply to me any more than they do a president or king.  Leaders sometimes have to make the tough decisions; they have to have people killed in order to save the lives of their own followers.  It might have to be done._  She was suddenly reminded of Logan, of some of the things he'd said, of how he'd told her their responsibilities precluded the chance for a relationship.  _He knew it all along,_ Max realized.  _He knew this is the kind of thing I'd have to face.  He was right to blow me off.  I don't think I could do this if I knew I'd have to look him in the eye tomorrow._

            "Okay," Alec said, surprising Max with his trusting tone.  "If you say this is just strategy, I totally believe you.  Now let's think this all through and see which way we want to go."

            _He totally accepts my word for it,_ Max realized, pleased that Alec didn't keep pushing her the way she'd expected him to.  _Think of how much less aggravation I would have had if I had just had that 'let's be friends' conversation a long time ago…_

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            "So I trust there haven't been any problems," Set muttered as he walked into Logan's office, causing him to jump in surprise.

            "What did I tell you about sneaking around here?" Logan asked, knowing exactly what Set would say next.

            "I wasn't sneaking, I was walking," Set predictably responded.  "It's not my fault I don't make much noise.  Would you prefer I started bumping into random objects?"

            "I might," Logan answered.  "Or maybe we could just tie a bell around your neck."

            "I'd pay to see that," Syl put in as she walked into the room and joined the conversation.  Part of Logan jumped for joy at seeing her, while another part felt… he didn't know, exactly.  But he was certain it wasn't good.

            "No bells," Set said, his mildly threatening tone making it clear that he didn't realize Logan and Syl were just kidding.

            "Just a joke," Logan assured him to clear up any confusion.  Set then got a surprised look on his face, and a moment later Logan was aware of a faint buzzing sound.  _Cell phone,_ he realized.  _One of Set's innumerable informants is calling in._

            Set immediately answered the call, keeping Logan and Syl in the dark as he managed a conversation with little more than a few grunts and a single 'uh-huh.'  Once he was done, he flashed an extremely uncharacteristic smile.  "I think we have it."

            "Have what?" Logan and Syl asked in unison, each one instantly looking at the other, clearly unnerved by being on the same wavelength.

            "That was an X8 that works for Zack," Set explained.  "She sees the big picture – wants to make sure that the crucial bits of info get where they need to go."

            "And?" Logan prompted.

            "She's been doing some extensive research on several Familiar cadavers that Zack's people brought back after their encounters.  She found something interesting."

            "What?" Logan asked, hating that for the first time Set was taking the long route in arriving at the point.  His military training had taught him to be clear and succinct.  _And only now does he learn drama,_ Logan groused silently.

            "We already know that the Familiars were immune to the venom in their pet snakes," Set continued.  "Well, it seems the reason they were immune is because their bodies produced a protein that acted as an antigen."

            "And we could test for it," Logan concluded, marveling that he had overlooked such an obvious biological trademark.

            "Yes, sir," Set agreed.

            "And what if they come up with a way to suppress it?" Syl asked.  "What if they develop some kind of amino acid to break down this telltale protein?  It wouldn't be that difficult, given what we know about their biochemistry research."

            "They could probably do that," Set admitted, "but that's not going to help them."

            "Oh… right," Syl responded with obvious understanding.  Logan, however, was completely in the dark as to what Set was saying, and he hated it.

            "What?" he asked, trying to hide his embarrassment at not catching on earlier.

            "Their bodies produce a protein that no normal human body produces," Syl answered, not saying anything so far that Logan didn't know.  "That happens for a reason."

            "Because of their selective breeding," Logan said.

            "It's the result of the breeding, but not the reason they produce it," Syl replied with a satisfied grin.  Logan still didn't know where she was going, though.  "Their bodies produce it for the same reason they produce red and white blood cells, or bone or soft tissue, or anything else in their bodies."

            "Because it's in their nature," Logan finally realized.  "It's in their DNA."

            "Yep," Syl said happily.

            "Which means we can identify them through genetic testing once we isolate the gene."

            "Not exactly," Set interrupted, surprising Logan.  He'd thought he had it all figured out.

            "Huh?" he asked.

            "It means we can start testing them now," Set said with a grim, satisfied grin.  "We've already isolated the gene."

            "Then we can identify them," Logan muttered.  "We have a way now of marking them as surely as Manticore marked all of you."

            "Yes, sir," Set replied, seeming to know exactly how thrilled Logan was.  "I'm going to a meeting to pick up the specifics," he told them.  "I'll be back by dawn."

            "Be careful," Logan said needlessly.  Set only nodded, and strode out of the apartment as noiselessly as he had entered.  Once he had gone, Syl's face lit up.

            "We have them, don't we?" she asked.

            "I don't know, you tell me," Logan answered coyly.  "You're the strategist."

            "Then I think it's time to celebrate," Syl said, taking two long strides that brought Logan into her arms.

            "Just a minute," Logan said, surprised that he was still capable of thinking about business.  "I have to make a phone call."

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            Max walked into what passed for Alec's room – a small office with a cracked ceiling that somehow seemed to leak water from the roof whether or not it was raining outside.  Her sibling was lying completely still on a sleeping bag, his face turned away from her.  Though his breathing was slow and shallow, she somehow knew he was still awake.

            "What is it, Max?" he asked her, his voice strong, still wide-awake.

            "An X6 just came in through the barricade," she replied.  "He had a message from Logan.  You'll never believe what he just found out."

To be continued…………………………… 


	15. The Horsemen Cometh

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned, or any other, copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note: This is it – the last chapter.**

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XV – The Horsemen Cometh 

            Zack looked down at the foamy ocean around his submarine, now floating along the surface, cruising into Vieques' bay, the water around the hull glowing with the bioluminescence of countless microorganisms.  _I've never seen anything like it,_ Zack thought with amazement as he stared at the waves lapping at the hull.  The blue-green light seemed to grow brighter the longer he looked at it, and Zack found himself struggling to resist the urge to dive overboard and see what it looked like underwater.

            _But that's not what I'm here for,_ he reminded himself.  _I told Set I'd come here to wage war against our enemies, and that's what I'm gonna do.  We **will** have our first notable victory._

            "How's it look?" Brin asked as she joined her captain.  Her gaze was also immediately drawn to the water.  "Bioluminescence?" she asked.  Zack only nodded absently, hoping his second-in-command would never guess how amazed he had been at the sight.

            _I'm a soldier,_ he reminded himself.  _I'm here to do what I can to protect my people.  They're my responsibility._

            "It's a nice night," Brin commented.  Again Zack nodded, though he wondered if there was any particular reason Brin seemed interested in making small talk.  It was very unlike her.  "You know, I've read about tropical air, but this is the first time I've felt it.  Even after the escape, I don't think I ever went farther south than Savannah, and I was only there for a couple of weeks during a winter.  It feels so good."

            "Uh-huh," Zack muttered.

            "No, seriously, Zack – take a deep breath."

            "It's fine," Zack muttered, not seeing what Brin's fascination was with the air.  _We're about to go into battle, and she's thinking about how pretty the water is and how fresh the air is.  I don't believe this…_

            "Do you really think this is going to be a relatively soft target?" Brin suddenly asked, almost bringing a smile to Zack's face as her attention shifted to the task at hand.

            "The satellite photos we took showed only a few heat signatures," Zack replied uncertainly.  He had his own rather serious doubts about the situation.  If their suspicions were right – if this was indeed a bio-weaponry research facility – there should have been far more people present.  They had counted hardly enough bodies in the labs to account for the researchers themselves, to say nothing of support staff and security personnel.  Part of him feared that his people were about to stumble headlong into another trap, while his instincts were certain that they were in the right spot, but at the wrong time.

            _Kilroy's people got their hands on this info during one of their strikes,_ Zack knew.  _That means the Familiars likely had time to piece together what had happened and make an educated guess as to what intelligence had been compromised.  Maybe they would have set up a trap, hoping we would come calling.  Then again, they might simply have moved the bulk of the operation to a more secure location._

            "I hope we're not too late," Brin commented, seeming to read her commander's mind.

            "You think we are?"

            "Dunno," Brin admitted, "but I have to admit I'm worried."

            "Why's that?"

            "When we surfaced I started listening to a Puerto Rico radio station," Brin explained.  "There was a news report updating the most recent crisis in the Middle East."

            "And what is it this week?"

            "Troops have massed on both sides of the Jordan River, in the Golan Heights, and Sinai," Brin said.  "The UAR and Israel are both accusing each other of preparing bio-weapons for use against the other.  They've also both come right out and said that they won't hesitate to use non-conventional weapons if the other initiates a conflict."

            "Great," Zack grumbled.  "I can just imagine one of our enemies being brazen enough to supply one side or the other with all the germs they could ever want."

            "That's exactly what I was thinking," Brin answered.  "It's right up the same alley as The Coming, except they'd get someone else to release the agent for them.  It'd be harder for us to intervene."

            "We're almost at the launch point," Zack stated coldly, almost indifferently.  "Get everyone together.  Make sure they understand the situation.  We're going in hard and fast.  If we can take prisoners, fine.  If not… well, let everyone know I'm not going to be asking too many questions about enemy casualties."

            "Understood, sir."

            "With any luck, this'll be just what we need to open a few more doors on enemy targets," Zack commented.  "We'll take some prisoners and interrogate them for intel.  We'll find some documents, too.  I'm sure of it.  We'll identify new targets, whether they're people or places, and we'll take this fight to our enemies.  We'll wipe them all out, Brin.  We'll bring them to their knees."

            "I know, sir," Brin acknowledged, not a hint of doubt in her voice.  "There's no way they'll ever win.  This is war – it's what you do best, it's what you were born to do."

-------------------------------------------------

            Alec moved silently down the hallway of the north wing of the airport Hilton's seventh floor, listening for the slightest indication that Special Agent Ames White had the slightest idea that he was about to get a visitor.  _Nothing,_ Alec thought with relief.  _Not the faintest sound._  Alec had been in his ninth floor room at the airport Holiday Inn for the previous six hours, watching White's room through ultra-sensitive infra-red binoculars.  Two hours earlier White had finally laid down, and an hour after that his temperature had started to drop.  Twenty minutes earlier, White's temperature had hit 96.9 degrees.  That had been all Alec needed to become convinced that his target had fallen asleep.

            He looked at the number on the door that he passed on the right – 725.  _Next one should be it,_ he decided.  Room 723 was his destination.  He reached room 723 and immediately took a small hose and a canister of compressed ether from his duffel bag.  Seconds later, the gas was being released through the hose, slipped between the floor and the bottom of the door.  This was very likely the most dangerous part of his plan – for the next five minutes Alec would be standing out in the open.  He could only hope that the security camera at the end of the hall had been properly looped and that there were no other security devices that he'd overlooked.

            The five minutes passed agonizingly slowly, and at the end Alec picked up the canister and walked back the way he had come, reaching the stairwell and descending to the basement parking garage where a stolen Ford Explorer was waiting for him.  The duffel bag was thrown inside the vehicle, and Alec took the ticket from the garage and paid it at a nearby credit card payment machine.  He hated these pre-pay systems.  For some reason, he had always felt that having a parking attendant on duty to collect the money was a nice, even classy touch.  _Then again, a parking attendant would be a potential witness,_ he acknowledged.  Once the money was paid, he knew his escape route was cleared.

            He double-checked the tires on the Explorer as he walked back past the vehicle, the anal retentive soldier in him needing to make certain one last time that everything was going according to plan.  Then he was on his way back up to the seventh floor, confident that the ether had had plenty of time to do its job.  He checked his watch on the elevator – 12:58 a.m.  He was overdue by 58 minutes now, and Max was likely beginning to worry.  _And the fact that I turned off my cell probably isn't helping to relax her at all,_ he noted.  _Well, it's not my fault White got interested in the nine o'clock movie.  Like 'Batman vs. Superman' was even that good…_

            Once again he felt a pang of guilt as he remembered Max's position on White – there was, as of yet, no official position.  She wanted him dead, that much was certain, and there were certainly good tactical reasons for the hit.  Still, she couldn't bring herself to order a man's death.  Not yet.  _And that's where I come in,_ Alec thought grimly.  _It needs to be done, and Max knows it.  Eventually she'd make the right decision, but we really can't wait.  This way, she won't have to do it.  She won't have to look herself in the mirror after having had a man killed._

            The doors opened again at the seventh floor, and he walked quickly out of the elevator, his long strides taking him to White's hotel room door within seconds.  He slipped the housekeeping passkey into the lock, and was surprised to find that the deadbolt hadn't been done.  Alec hadn't though White the type of guy that would be so careless.  He strode in and immediately checked White's pulse with his left hand, the right holding a Colt 1911 at the Agent's left temple.  Satisfied that his target was out for the count, Alec lifted the Familiar into his arms and carried him to the elevator.  As the doors opened, he pushed a button on a small hand-held transmitter, and hoped that the camera's power supply had just been cut off as he had planned.  There was no sign of trouble by the time he reached the garage, and he shifted the unconscious body in his grasp, slinging White over his left shoulder to make it easier to open the SUV.

            Only when Alec was out of the parking garage and into traffic did he begin to breathe more easily.  _I don't think anything went wrong,_ he thought in amazement.  _I can't believe it.  I mean, something **always** goes wrong._  He was still trying to figure out his good luck when he reached the waterfront.  He took White out of the vehicle and again slung him over his shoulder, grabbing the duffel bag once more in his free hand.

            _And now comes the fun part,_ he thought nervously.  He saw his destination in front of him – the _Kobayashi Maru_, a cargo freighter scheduled to leave at 4 a.m.  All of the containers had already cleared customs, which made for the perfect setting for what Alec had in mind.  He dashed up the gangplank onto the deck, and raced past several crewmen that were regaling each other with sordid tales of Seattle's less expensive prostitutes.

            _All things considered, though, this was far easier than I thought it would be,_ Alec decided.  He opened a container that was only half-full of computer software bound for Sydney, and walked in, dropping White to the cold steel floor.  He then went to work quickly, binding the Familiar's hands behind his back with handcuffs and duct tape, and repeating the process on his ankles.  Then he turned on a small penlight, which provided all the illumination he figured his prisoner would need.

            Lastly, he started taking the necessary supplies out of the duffel bag – two hypodermic needles, a jar of sulfuric acid, pliers, and a custom-made Desert Eagle with a silencer.  Using the first hypodermic needle, he injected a stimulant into White's arm and then waited for a few moments until his prisoner began to move.

            "Wake up," Alec growled impatiently.

            "Go to hell," White countered, apparently having figured out already that he was a prisoner.  The Familiar opened his eyes, passing his gaze over the items arrayed on the floor around him.  The implication was obvious.

            "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what your people are up to lately, are you?" Alec asked, though he didn't expect an answer.

            "Not a chance."

            "Didn't think so."  Alec was disappointed, though not surprised.  He knew White was tough; he had to give the man that much, at least.  Alec thought it inconceivable that the threat of torture and death alone would be enough to get the Familiar to talk, but he had tried all the same.  _Maybe one of my siblings would be able to break him,_ he mused, _but I doubt I could do it.  I just wasn't trained too much in interrogation techniques.  Al I know is pretty much limited to resisting the effects of torture, without any instruction on how to actually dole it out._

            "You might as well just kill me," White sneered.

            "I know," Alec replied coldly.  _It's not like I have any time to conduct an interrogation, anyway._  He picked up the Desert Eagle and walked behind his captive, grabbing White's hair roughly with his left hand while he leveled the barrel of the .50 cal. pistol at the back of his head with the right.  "You know, I never thought the end would be this easy, this anti-climactic," he commented.  White never had a chance to answer, as Alec pulled the trigger and blew the bottom part of the Familiar's face all over the inside of the container.

            The rest of Alec's task was done quickly, methodically.  He dipped White's fingers in the acid, burning off his fingerprints.  Then he went to work with the pliers, prying from the blasted jaw the few teeth that remained.  He placed those in a small bag, and then stood over his prey as he analyzed the scene.  _Perfect,_ he decided.  _The body won't be found for awhile, not until the container is opened in Australia.  And when it is found, the only real way to identify the body will be through DNA, and as a Federal Agent, White's DNA is on file.  By then, news will be out about the cult and its DNA signature.  The authorities will figure out what he was, and word will spread like wildfire that a Familiar was able to infiltrate the NSA.  There'll be scandal, finger pointing, witch-hunts… and death._

-------------------------------------------------

            "I understand," Lillith said as she hung up the phone, her lips spreading in a macabre mockery of a smile.  She had finally gotten the news she'd been waiting for – Special Agent Ames White had disappeared.  She doubted his body would ever be found – the transgenics were nothing if not thorough, and she doubted they would ever take the chance that they could be blamed for the death of a federal agent.  That kind of image wouldn't exactly do wonders for Max's latest public relations campaign.

            _So White is gone and the transgenics likely have their guard down,_ Lillith decided.  _It's time._  She picked up the phone again and called her contact in Alexandria.  It was only seconds before she received her answer.

            "Hello?" a male voice asked form the other end.

            "Ship it," Lillith said simply.

            "Are you certain?"

            "The wild card that complicated matters last time has been controlled," Lillith announced.  No one will interfere."

            "But they hit Vieques," the voice on the other end of the line pointed out.  "They know about the program."

            "Perhaps, but they have no information on the details," Lillith reminded the man.  "There's no vaccine for them to distribute this time.  Maybe their heightened immune systems will allow them to survive, but no one else will.  And once the ordinaries are out of the way, there'll be nothing to stop us from rolling right over the transgenics."

            "Then all I need is the authorization code," the man said, cutting to the formalities.

            "Commence The Rapture," Lillith replied, speaking the words that she knew would give authorization for the Familiars in Egypt to ship their bio-weapons to the UAR and Israel.  Within twenty-four hours every Familiar in the world would be immunized, and within forty-eight hours germ warfare would very likely break out in the Middle East.

            _And so it begins,_ Lillith thought happily as she hung up the phone.  _We will unleash a pestilence unlike anything the world has ever seen._

-------------------------------------------------

            Logan was jolted out of sleep when he felt something moving in the bed behind him.  _What the hell?_ he wondered, part of his brain afraid that some kind of animal had gotten into his apartment and jumped into bed with him, and part trying to figure out a strategy to defend himself against an intruder he was sure was there.  Then, all of a sudden, he relaxed.

            _It's just Syl, _he realized with relief.  They had been together for a couple of weeks now, and still he found himself surprised every time he woke up.  _I can't believe I got so used to sleeping alone,_ he marveled.  _After my divorce, I thought that was the one thing I would never be used to again._

            He moved slowly, drawing the sheet and goose-down blanket off of him as he stood up.  Syl remained asleep, or at least pretended she did.  Either way, Logan was confident he would get the alone time he needed.

            Leaving the bedroom, he walked down the hall and into his office, only to abruptly turn on his heel and head for the kitchen before he went back to work.  _Just because I'm too awake to sleep doesn't mean I'm coherent enough to get anything productive done.  I need coffee._  He only turned on the light over the stove, trying to keep the room as dark as possible while still being able to see what he was doing.

            Almost right away, as so often happened, his thoughts drifted to Syl.  _Exactly what the hell am I doing with her?_ he wondered.  _Three weeks ago this would have been inconceivable.  Now, I'm not sure I'd be able to get along too well without her.  Personally and professionally, she's been a godsend._

            When she had first gone to him that night, she'd spoken of loneliness, and Logan knew well exactly what she was saying.  Ever since taking on the role of Kilroy, a persona diametrically opposed to everything his alter-ego of Eyes Only stood for, Logan had felt increasingly isolated.  He couldn't go to anyone to talk about what was going on.  The only other person who knew was Set, and he lived off in his own little world.  There was no solace there.

            Then Syl had come along, initially a threat to everything he was doing, and then an unexpected ally.  Finally, Logan had had someone to talk to, someone to whom he could express his fears, schemes, and self-doubt.  _And she always listened, no matter what I said,_ he acknowledged.  _Without any semblance of self-interest in the situation, she listened and understood._  Logan doubted he could have retained his sanity without her.

            Despite everything they shared, though, Logan wasn't really sure he held any emotional attachment to the woman, and that was the puzzle that now had him standing alone in the kitchen, brewing coffee at 3:30 in the morning.  When he thought about the future, when he dreamed of a time and place he could be happy, it was always Max, not Syl, who stood next to him.  _Am I being unfair to her?_ he wondered.  _Should I break off this whole thing with Syl?_  He shook his head, trying to chase the thought away.

            It seemed that at least once a day she reminded him somehow that their relationship was to remain as unemotional as possible, though she almost always couched her thoughts in tactical terms.  _"You're a leader of a secret army,"_ she had said the previous evening.  _"What if you immediately need to send someone on what would likely be a suicide mission, and I'm the only person available at the time?"_ she had asked.  _"You know as well as I do that we can't have your feelings interfering in a situation like that.  So just make sure you don't fall in love with me, Logan."_

_            "I won't," _Logan had assured her.  _"Though I'm starting to wonder why you feel the need to remind me on a daily basis."_

_            "Because I know you," _she'd returned with a smile that he found increasingly endearing.  _"You're not the type that's comfortable with the thought that you're using somebody."_

_            "I don't think I'm using you,"_ he'd objected.

            _"Deep down, I think you do," _she had said confidently.  _"You're the type of guy with very old-fashioned values, and you hold those values very dear, Logan.  It's your values that led you to become Eyes Only.  You place women on a pedestal, you see them as something to be cherished and protected.  You also can't imagine yourself being with the kind of woman that's in it only for the physical gratification.  Combine the two, and you're left with a guy who's forced to conclude that deep down I'm a nice girl, since that's the only type he'd get involved with for any length of time, and that since I'm a nice girl, I must somehow be completely oblivious to the things you're making me do.  Just remember that that isn't the way it is, Logan.  I'm not a nice girl, though I **am** your girl.  Just not in a 'let's settle down in a nice house with a picket fence and grow old together' sorta way."_

            Logan smiled at the memory of the conversation.  She'd been right, as usual.  _There's something there in the back of my head that wants to make something normal out of this whole situation,_ he admitted.  _But there's nothing I was ever taught that prepared me for the position I'm in now._

            He noticed the coffee was done brewing, and he poured a cup and took it into his office, immediately heading for the well-worn chair at his desk.  There was a new message from Senator McElroy.

_I need the information you have on the breeding cult,_ he wrote again, sending the same message he always sent.  _I know you know more than you're letting on.  It's time to go public._

            Logan sat back and sighed.  If it had been up to him, he would have gone public weeks before.  Set had advised him against it, though.  _And he was right to wait,_ Logan admitted.  Now they knew about the gene that was present in every Familiar, the gene that allowed them to produce the protein that made them resistant to the virus developed to initiate The Coming.  _Now we can expose them all,_ Logan thought with relief.  _Of course, we'll have to find a way to test everyone in the world, but once we do that, the Familiars won't be able to hide anymore.  We actually have a chance to win this thing._

            "What's up?" Syl asked from behind him, walking up and looking over his shoulder at the message on the screen.  "He's still trying to get the info, huh?"

            "Yep.  I don't think we can keep stringing him along for much longer."

            "Why would you?" Syl asked immediately.  "We have dozens of names of confirmed Familiars.  We've found companies that control their assets.  We found a genetic tag that can be used to identify them.  Let's get this going before it's too late."

            "Too late?" Logan asked, surprised at the thought that they were on a stricter timeline than he'd planned.

            "They're out there, Logan," she reminded him.  "Somewhere, they're planning the end of the world.  Max's genetic immunity made them rush, maybe move too soon with The Coming.  They lost, they had their plans defeated.  Now all of the transgenics know about them, and they know we know.  We were created to oppose them, Logan, and they know that, too.  Tactically speaking, their best bet is to make a big move right now.  They know we're probably trying to find some way of identifying them; they can't allow that to happen.  They may be genetically superior to any ordinary, but there are only a handful of them in the whole scheme of things.  You think for a moment they'd fare any better than the transgenics have against six billion ordinaries?  They have only two choices – wipe out the transgenics before we can either take action against them or warn the ordinaries, or try some kind of alternate doomsday plan and wipe out the ordinaries right now, leaving us alone to fight however many of them there are.  Whichever one they choose, the longer they wait, the more danger they're in.  And here you are, sitting on information that could win this war for us."  Her demeanor, her vigorous pleading for the release of the story, reminded Logan of the way he sounded when he'd first taken to the airwaves as Eyes Only.  _It's nice having her around,_ he decided.  _In another world, she'd have made a pretty good journalist in her own right._  He kept his opinions to himself, though, and focused on the issue at hand.

            "We can't release the information until the situation at Terminal City is resolved," Logan countered.  "It can't seem like we're making this all up to take the heat off the transgenics, or at the very least trying to produce an even greater bogeyman so that the ordinaries will leave your kind alone as the lesser of two evils.  We can't appear to have anything to gain by releasing the information, or we risk the chance of seeming… I don't know what word to use."

            "Self-serving?"

            "That's not the word I was looking for, but it works well enough," Logan replied.

            "But so many people have already come around, Logan," Syl said, once more sounding as if she were pleading.  "They know there's more to the story than they're being told.  They want the truth, Logan – they _need_ the truth.  They're starving for it, and you're holding it back from them, hoarding it until the time you feel like sharing.  It's not right."

            "Maybe not," Logan replied, "but it's my call.  I control when they get what they want… what they need… and the time isn't now."

-------------------------------------------------

            Set's cell phone started to ring, and he waved an apologetic hand at the heavily armed men standing a few feet away as he answered the call.

            "I assume this is important," he muttered in Latin, knowing that the only person with the number who wasn't already present would understand him completely.

            "It is," Zack replied in English.  "We arrived at the scene too late."

            "Really?" Set asked absently, also in English.  Standing next to Set, Bucephalus did his best to hide his curiosity.  He knew Zack was the caller, and he likewise knew that Set was getting word on the success or failure of the strike at Vieques.  Set's indifferent demeanor completely concealed the fact that the conversation he was having very likely dealt with the fate of the human race.

            "We captured a few lab techs, including the Caine woman, but she hasn't exactly been cooperative," Zack continued.  "All she's told us is that we were too late, that the weapons were shipped out along with the vaccine, and that there's nothing we can do about it.  Even if we had the vaccine, she says there's no way to inoculate the populace in time."

            "Prepare your guest for a trip," Set told Zack, Bucephalus immediately nodding in understanding._  So, they at least got some prisoners._  "You remember Tia, right?"  _And he's planning on being hardcore with the prisoners, too,_ Bucephalus realized.  Tiamet was an Inquisitor, an extremely introverted X6 that had been selected by Manticore to learn the techniques of interrogation and torture.  Bucephalus knew that Tiamet was _very_ good at her job.

            "I understand," Zack answered.  "But what if everything she said is right?  What if it's already too late?"

            "I'm currently addressing that possibility," Set assured the other X5.  "I have my own contingency plans."

            "You sure?"

            "Trust me," Set answered as he folded up his cell once again, turning his attention once more to the seven armed Chinese men arrayed before him.  "I'm terribly sorry about the interruption," he apologized smoothly.  "I believe you were about to give me the account numbers in Zurich."

            The man in front, a short, stocky Chinese man wearing a custom-tailored European suit, nodded and handed over a small card.  Set took the card and entered the numbers on his PDA.  "It'll just be a few moments."  Seconds crept by until one of the armed men near the back of the group spoke up.

            "It's there," he announced.

            "Excellent," their leader replied.  "The merchandise, I believe, is now yours," he added with a gesture toward the four large, steel cases positioned on the ground right behind Set's van.

            "And if I need more?" Set asked, drawing a surprised stare from everyone, including Bucephalus.

            "More?" the Chinese man asked.  "Why would you need more?"

            "In case I run out," Set explained.

            "Huh?"  Bucephalus knew what the man was thinking – he was shocked that Set had announced he actually had plans to use the merchandise.  For decades such items were traded from one man to another, always used to blackmail one government or another.  It was the possession, not the use, of the merchandise that had always been important.  All except for once, over the United States' East Coast.

            "I might need more," Set said, trying to clarify his request.

            "You can't be serious," the man replied with a hint of a British accent in his English, betraying his Hong Kong origins.  "You're actually going to _use_ them?"  He seemed to be considering the wisdom of the sale, and Bucephalus started ever so slowly to move his hand toward the front of his jacket, preparing to draw his weapons if it became necessary.  Between him, Set, and Kali, who was watching from her usual sniper position, he knew they'd likely walk away alive.  But there was still the possibility he could face the discomfort of being shot.

            "Yes or no," Set prompted, "that's all you have to tell me."

            "Yes," the Chinese man confirmed.  "But if you start using them, the price will go up precipitously."

            "How much?"

            "Five million per megaton."

            "Unacceptable," Set answered.  "I'll tell you that much right now.  You go home and think about another number.  Expect my call."  The Chinese man backed away slowly, cautiously, trying to decide whether Set was really crazy enough to use the hydrogen bombs that he'd just bought.

            It wasn't long before Set was alone again with his lieutenant.  "Go to Zack's place," he instructed.  "Talk to Harry, get him to come along with us… we're gonna need his help."

            "Sir?" Bucephalus asked, doubting he could possibly be hearing what his commander was implying.

            "Now, Ceph," Set ordered.  "We don't have much time.  It might already be too late."

Fin 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Endnote:** So all of the characters have reached the end of this leg of their personal journeys.  Some readers have griped about characters not being 'in character,' but that was the entire point.  Just as Max was not the same character at the end of Season 1 as she was at the beginning, so is she different now than she was at the end of Season 2.  So yes, I _have_ departed from the series dogma, but so would the writers had they had the opportunity to pen a Season 3.  (Change is necessary for any series if it wants to stay fresh).  My only hope is that the reader can see _why_ each character's change has taken place.  If you can see that, then I'm satisfied.  If you don't agree with where I've gone, that's your prerogative.  I just hope you can at least see where I was coming from.  Now, by way of final comments, I want to thank everyone who posted a review to this story.  Specifically, at the risk of pissing off some readers by inadvertently omitting them, I wish to thank the following people for their frequent, insightful comments: **RagingConfusion**, **JoJo**, **Me**, **Dark Phanton**, and especially **Dia** (her well thought out comments helped keep me honest a couple of times).  If I missed anyone, feel free to send me nasty emails about it.

The sequel (and final story of the trilogy) will be posted within a day or so of this chapter, so if you want to read it, go ahead.  The story is entitled _Dreams Torn Asunder_.


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